


Domestic Life with a Skeleton

by LadyAnatares



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Cynicism, Discrimination, Domestic Fluff, Dry Wit, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Gaster!Sans - Freeform, Not Your Doll AU, One-Sided Attraction, Racism, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader-Insert, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Sarcasm, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Timeline Shenanigans, and a bit tsundere, chronic foot-in-mouth disease, reader is female
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-05-31 03:13:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 22,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6453139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAnatares/pseuds/LadyAnatares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out at a bar after working late one night and tired of being accosted by drunks, you meet a skeleton monster who seems to share your frustrations. You're not interested in finding a man, and he's not interested in finding a woman. At least, that's what you tell yourself, but somehow, he keeps slipping under your guards.</p><p>There's not enough Gaster!Sans fics out there so for some reason I decided to write my own. Reader in this one is a bit of a sarcastic cynic, just because I wanted to write something a little different than my other reader character in Not Your Doll (shameless plug). She'll soften up though, just you wait :)</p><p>This fic takes place four years after the events in Not Your Doll, so there are some spoilers for what the NYD cast is doing when they appear. I think I've put warnings in, but just in case this is your first :)</p><p>*****NOTE: On hiatus until I finish something else and plan this better. *****</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Encounter.

Coming to the bar tonight had seemed like a pretty good idea at the time. Work was stressful, and you just wanted to unwind somewhere that wasn’t your apartment, where you could throw away some cash to have a stiff drink made for you instead of making it yourself. However, even though this establishment was on the way home, the other clientele left a lot to be desired.

You don’t need a man – That much is certain. You’re a self-made woman starting a good career, with a nice apartment you can easily afford and plenty of opportunities for advancement in your field. Your life functions blissfully enough without one. So, why they insisted on throwing themselves at you when you just wanted one drink to savour alone, in peace, you really had no idea.

It wouldn’t be so bad if most of them could just learn to take no for an answer already.

“Not interested,” you dismiss, completing the refusal with a demeaning wave and a sip of your drink.

“Come onnn, baby,” the sports fan slurs.

You look past him to try and make eye contact with the security guard by the door, but he’s too busy talking to someone underage about her fake ID. Great. Glancing back at the bar, the bartender seems to notice your situation. He finishes cleaning a glass and throws the towel aside. Finally, some support.

“Hey buddy,” the bartender calls from directly behind the drunk, clapping him firmly on the shoulder. The drunk startles in response, clearly not having realized that he was the one being addressed. “Think you’ve had enough, eh?”

“Thanks, Mac,” you smile from behind your glass up at the bartender.

“Third one tonight already, huh?” He grins. “Come on, time to go.”

As Mac leaves to take out the trash, you set down your glass with a loud thunk and release an exasperated sigh. So much for relaxing after a long day of work, you think, as you press your eyes closed against the palms of your hands. When you finally open them again, you’re surprised to see another guy sitting across from you at the tiny table in the corner of the bar.

Well, it doesn’t surprise you all that much that you’ve somehow managed to attract guy number four already. What’s surprising to you is that guy four isn’t human; He’s a monster. A skeleton type monster, at that.

You openly groan your frustration at the sight of him, his bone lips pressing together in a frown at your reaction. His eye sockets are dark, but his left holds a yellow, faintly glowing ring that you can feel studying you and your every move. Deep cracks in his skull extend from below his left eye and above his right. You bristle defensively at the thought of being undressed by his eyes.

“The hell do you want,” you finally ask, seeking shelter behind your drink glass again as you bring it to your lips. At this rate you’re going to have to walk home, but thankfully your apartment isn’t too far from here.

“Sorry, uh…” he stammers, tapping a finger against the rim of his own glass. His voice is low and raspy, and if the circumstances were different, it might even be sexy. But not tonight. Nobody can possibly be attractive to you tonight, after all the creeps you’ve met less than an hour into your evening. He makes a noise like he’s clearing his throat – You make a concerted effort not to laugh at that, considering his complete lack of a throat – then continues with whatever it is that he wants. “I just… I couldn’t help but notice that we seem to have the same problem?” he suggests.

“That’s a new one,” you think out loud. Seriously, where is that pickup line going? “And what would that problem be?” you inquire aggressively, twisting the wrist of your hand that’s still clutching your glass from the top, swirling what’s left of the calming liquid around.

“That neither of us can catch a break?” he groans. His arms fold in front of him as he leans on the table and slumps his shoulders as if he’s halfway to a nap, upper edges of his eye sockets drooping. “I don’t understand it,” he rasps his frustration. “Why? I mean, _I_ know what I am. Do they?”

Oh. Well, that’s different. And, you think, not an entirely unwelcome change of pace.

“You make it pretty obvious leaving your jacket open like that,” you nod, gesturing with your glass to his exposed sternum and ribs. He startles a bit, straightening to look down at himself. “You’re basically half naked. The jacket itself isn’t doing you any favours, either - Girls love bad boys, and that thing makes you look like you belong to a motorcycle gang.”

“Really?” He genuinely sounds surprised. You think it might be the alcohol talking, but it’s almost sweet how innocent he seems for that moment. “So, it’s my clothes that are the problem? But I love this jacket,” he grumbles, tugging at the leather sleeves and nuzzling the side of his face into the fur-lined hood. There are some decals on the shoulders of it as well, though from the angle it’s hard to tell what they’re supposed to be.

“I don’t know, I guess so?” you shrug. “Also, this one isn’t exactly something you can control, but… The fact that you’re different – That you’re a monster and not a regular old human – Probably appeals to some girls. You’re different, and different is sexy, I guess?” you intuit.

His cheekbones seem to faintly glow blue for a moment before his surprisingly flexible eye sockets blink twice and look away. “Huh,” he ponders, yellow disc searching some unseen place for an answer. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

“It’s a crazy world,” you suppose.

“I really had no idea what I was doing to get so much attention.”

“It’s not your fault,” you blurt out. “People have some pretty weird kinks these days.”

“So,” he starts, tapping a finger against his lower jaw. “What did _you_ do wrong to get so much attention tonight?”

“Showed up on hockey night,” you nod to one of the massive ceiling-mounted televisions playing the Leafs game. “And came alone.”

“Is that really it?”

“Yup,” you shrug. “My friends all went and either moved for work or got married and squeezed out kids, so I don’t have anyone to go get a drink with anymore. A woman like me, coming alone to a bar like I did? Well, _obviously_ that means I’m looking for a good lay, _right?_ ” you say sarcastically.

“Uh,” he stammers. He straightens in his seat and that blue glow returns, flickering briefly on his face before fading again. “… I’m sorry if it’s rude to ask, but… Are you??”

You snort. “Ugh, _no!_ I was being sarcastic!” you huff.

“Aha,” he nods with understanding. “I thought as much.”

“Is this gentleman bothering you _____?” Mac the bartender asks suddenly from behind the skeleton.

“Naw, he’s cool,” you wave away your guard with a faint smile.

Mac shoots you a confused look before stepping away.

“I guess you know my name now,” you sigh. “It’s only fair that I get to know yours.”

“Roman,” he answers quickly.

“Nice to meet you, Roman.”

You extend a hand to him and he smiles gently, taking your fingers in his in a loose grip and shaking it once. Over his shoulder you notice a table of young guys eyeing you curiously. Mac’s eyeing you from behind the bar as well. They’re all probably wondering what you’re doing talking to a monster, and why you haven’t turned him away like the others.

“Likewise, _____,” he greets obliviously.

“Hey,” you start. “Since we’re already talking, and you sitting here just so happens to be keeping the attention of the opposite sex off of both our backs, why not tell me a bit about yourself?”

“Oh,” he mumbles out. “There’s not much to say, I guess. My life isn’t very interesting.”

“Bullcrap,” you say immediately. “You’re a monster” you point at him. “And I’m buzzed,” you redirect your finger to yourself. “Anything you’ve got going on is interesting to me right now.”

It turns out that since he came out of the Underground with the rest of the monsters four years ago, he’s been working as some kind of energy consultant. You’re about to ask whether he means the door to door salesmen kind when he clarifies that he’s technically a scientist and engineer. He’s very passionate about the environment, and claims that he can design a power plant that runs on magic, which would burn clean unlike coal and fossil fuels, and not consume any fuel itself. His explanation on that part is a bit confusing, but apparently he thinks he can cycle the magical energy in a way that it technically isn’t used or destroyed in a constant loop, while still providing enough power for a city.

“The only problems I’m facing right now are funding and making the system more efficient,” he rambles. “But, I hope to have those two things ironed out by next quarter, so we can begin construction.”

“Sounds neat,” you mumble. You look up to Mac and gesture with your empty glass. He holds up a finger and mouths ‘one more’? You shake your head no. It’s late and you just want him to ring you up and return your card.

“So what do you do for a living?” Roman asks.

“Law clerk,” you answer automatically.

“What type of law?”

“Right now the lawyer I support handles all the real estate, people buying and selling houses – Which is easy, it’s just paperwork,” you explain. “But it’s a big firm and we do a lot of different things. I’m hoping to move to another team that does family law before the end of the year.”

“Why family law?”

“Custody battles and petty bickering,” you chuckle softly to yourself. “It has a _lot_ more drama and action than real estate. Besides,” you add. “I’ve got a soft spot for kids. I want to make sure they leave the process with the _safe_ parent, regardless of that parent’s gender. A lot of judges still award custody to moms that aren’t fit to raise a goldfish, let alone a kid. I think it’d be swell if they could go to their father, _if_ he can provide a stable home, or a guardian who can instead.”

“Fascinating,” he muses.

Mac drops your credit card on the table unceremoniously, and you slide it over to yourself to put it back into your wallet, looking up at him and nodding your thanks with the corners of your mouth slightly upturned.

“That’s my cue to leave, I guess,” you turn to tell Roman, who’s been watching the exchange with curiosity. “Well, it’s been fun I guess. Thanks for hanging out and discouraging any more creeps from talking to me tonight,” you smile gently at him, extending a hand in parting.

“Oh! You’re welcome I guess,” he laughs softly, taking your hand in his and giving it a quick shake. “And, likewise, I suppose.”

“Do you live in the city?”

Roman nods.

“Cool. See you around, Roman.”

“Later, ____.”


	2. The Park.

The next time you hit the bar, Roman’s sitting at a table by himself, hunched over a plate of cheese fries he’s finishing off.

“Hey Roman,” you greet, taking a seat at his table with your drink in hand. You notice he’s still wearing that black leather biker jacket. “Having better luck tonight?”

He startles and straightens, looking at you with confusion in his eyes. “Do I know you?”

You blink, feeling a bit confused yourself at the look he’s giving you. “Uh? We met a couple nights ago? I’m _____. Remember?”

“Oh,” he flushes blue. “Right… I’m sorry. Work has been… Stressful.”

“Sure...” you say, not entirely convinced. What is his deal tonight? “Any luck with those grants for your magic power plant?”

He blinks, seeming even more confused than before. “… I won’t know until next week,” he says cautiously. Then he slumps again with a sigh. “But I’m pretty sure I’m not going to get them this round.”

“That’s too bad,” you nod, attempting sympathy, sipping at your drink.

“Um, _____,” he starts. “Can you tell me…”

“What’s up?”

“Nevermind,” he looks away briefly. “It’s idiotic.”

“I have to deal with realtors all day. _Try me_ ,” you challenge.

“Okay, well,” he sighs. “What is the nature of our relationship?” he asks nervously.

What? “We just met the other night?” you bluster, feeling perplexed. “We talked about drunks and work and not much else.”

“Oh, good.” he relaxes.

You blink at that. “Good?”

“Nevermind. Its fine,” he shakes his head, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his skeletal lips.

“I feel like there’s some significant information I’m missing out on here,” you observe. “Something going on?”

His smile gets slightly wider at that. “You are,” he begins. “But, it’s not very… It’s complicated. I’m a complicated person.”

“So you’re not just going to tell me what it is?”

Roman runs his hands over his face for a moment, and then as he rests his elbows on the table he leans his jaw on his knuckles as he considers your question. His one golden eye is watching you carefully. After too long of a silence, you set your glass down hard with a huff of frustration. He jumps a bit at that, clearly surprised out of whatever trance he’d slipped into.

“I take it that’s a ‘no’, then?” you bark, crossing your arms and leaning back in your seat.

“I’m sorry,” he frowns. “It has to do with magic… And seeing as I’ve only just met you, I don’t know how much I can safely tell you,” he admits.

“I still want to know,” you persevere. “Tell me what’s going on. Why are you acting weird? How come you act like this is our first time meeting?”

He chuckles slightly at that, bringing his water glass to his bony lips. “This is our first time meeting,” he says shyly. “At least, it is for _me_ , I suppose.”

You groan, rolling your eyes. “And what the hell does _that_ mean? Did you seriously just _forget_ Monday night? How much did you drink, anyway?” you scold.

“I told you it was complicated,” he laughs softly.

“Tell me,” you demand firmly.

“Next time,” he promises. “If we meet again, ask me and I’ll tell you next time. Does that sound fair?”

“No. It really doesn’t.”

“_____, was it?” His gaze narrows seriously. “Look, I… At this moment in time, I really don’t know what the future holds. So, if there’s a next time, ask me again then, when I have a better idea. Alright?”

“I don’t understand this bullshit,” you grumble. “Why can’t you just tell me _now?_ ”

“ _Next_ time,” he insists. “If we meet one more time, then I promise I’ll explain everything.”

“You’d better,” you growl, deciding to back off for now. The expression he’s making is so earnest.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

“This isn’t over.”

He nods. “Probably not.”

* * *

 

The next time you meet Roman, it’s actually when you’re sitting in the park for lunch in the middle of a sunny May afternoon. You don’t notice him at first – Both your sub sandwich and your work laptop are occupying all of your attention as you try to eat quickly and finish up some paperwork – but he definitely notices you.

What you didn’t expect was for him to sneak up behind you.

“Hey beautiful,” a familiar voice rasps deeply right by your head.

You stiffen straight when a set of bony fingers find their way into your hair, brushing it away as he leans into your view. He’s smiling at you, eyes half-lidded, as he plants a kiss on your lips.

“ ** _AAAHH!_** ” you shriek, whipping your arm back and slapping him across the face, _hard_. You and your hand both immediately regret this decision, a shock of pain going through your palm and tingling painfully halfway up your arm. “OW!” you cry. You may as well have hit a _brick wall_. “What the _fuck!_ Roman!?”

“I’m sorry! What did I do?” he wails, holding his cheekbone. He reels, his eye sockets narrowing. “Oh no. What day is it today?” he asks, shocked.

“Tuesday.” you bark back.

“No, the date, I meant. Day, month, year,” he clarifies. He grabs the wooden chair across from you and sits down at the small steel table that you’ve claimed for your lunch break.

“May tenth, twenty-sixteen?” you rattle off, confused. “Wait, don’t change the subject: _Why did you kiss me!?_ ”

“Oh, I’m so sorry _____!” he struggles. “I messed up again. I thought it was… I’m so sorry!”

“Explain this bullshit,” you demand. “What’s with you?”

“… Pardon?”

You groan and put a hand to your forehead, closing your eyes and trying to reign in your frustration. “Okay, clearly there is something weird going on here. First time I met you, we talked casually about work and your gang clothes. Second time you had no idea who I was. And this, the third time, you come out of nowhere and _kiss me?_ Either explain yourself, or buy me dinner first,” you joke dryly.

“This is the third time?” he baffles. “Oh, I _really_ owe you that explanation, then.”

“You _really_ do.”

“Well,” he blushes bluely. “I’m a monster with magic, so… Magic is the problem here.”

“How is magic the problem?”

He sighs. “I’m really sorry. I did say it was complicated, didn’t I?” His phalanges run along the back of his head absently as he looks away, deep in thought. “How do I explain this…?” he trails off.

You fold your arms and shoot him your best glare. “I don’t really care where you start, just so long as I get answers.”

He looks down at his hands thoughtfully, fingers interlaced with his palms up on the steel sheet metal. You clear your throat to draw his attention back. His golden eye glances back up at you guiltily.

“Maybe it helps if I start from your beginning,” he says.

“ _My_ beginning?”

“Yes. You see, when you first met me, it wasn’t the first time I met you,” he struggles, tugging at his ash grey turtleneck uncomfortably. “It was actually a few months after we got to know each other, for me.”

“… _Whaaaat_.”

“Let me finish. Please?” He reaches a hand across the table searching for yours, but you glare down daggers at his attempted affection, forcing him to withdraw. “A-Anyways, um… At that point, you were comfortable enough with me that you’d told me how that encounter went, so I could ‘act’ it out the same way you remembered it.”

“What are you…” you growl, but shake your head, deciding to let him go on instead of interrupting with your protest. Even though you _really want_ to protest, you decide instead to persevere. You’re still not mollified about the random kiss, though.

“The second time you met me was genuinely my first time meeting you,” he continues. “And this time…” he blushes. “Well, I’m a lot further along in the timeline than you are. Clearly.”

“Timeline?” you have to ask.

“Right. My magic is… Well, I really don’t have the greatest control over it, but I can move up and down my own timeline.”

“So…” you struggle to understand. “Tomorrow, for me, could be months from now for you?”

He smiles pleasantly. “Right. You understand.”

“That is fucking _crazy_.”

“I figured you would say that,” he laughs.

“So what am I to you, in your timeline, right now?” you ask, pointing at him accusingly.

His cheekbones erupt in blue and his shoulders slump slightly, fingers coming up to grip the tall collar of his turtleneck sweater, pulling it up in a meek attempt to try and hide from your angry gaze. “Do you really want to know? I think it would make you uncomfortable, to know your future like that.”

“I think I can guess at some of it from your greeting,” you flush. “How the hell did _that_ happen?”

“Organically,” he grins. “It took a long time. Oh! I almost forgot,” he says, rustling into the pockets of his jeans. He finally withdraws a scrap of paper and hands it to you. Its six numbers.

“Okay, what is this?” you breathe. You have a sinking feeling, but want him to confirm it.

“I memorized them for you, but I… Well, it seems I overshot _when_ to give them to you,” he laughs. “By about two years.”

“… Lottery numbers?” you ask, trying to control the shake in your voice.

He grins broadly. “Hang on to those for two years, alright?”

“Sure, this tiny scrap of paper is _totally_ going to survive that long,” you rasp sarcastically.

He laughs so genuinely at that it takes you by surprise. Last week he barely even knew what sarcasm _was_. You shoot him a look. He wipes at the corners of his sockets, attempting to compose himself.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Roman sighs softly, still smiling at you. “I should, uh… I should probably go, before I get myself into any more trouble.”

He gazes at you awkwardly for a moment, then that strange blue glow returns to his cheekbones when he remembers himself and rises from his seat, moving to leave quickly. You stare at his back, still flustered from the encounter, then turn your attention to the scrap of paper he gave you.

In two years’ time, you’ll be dating a time travelling skeleton and winning the lottery.

“Ridiculous,” you snarl, crumpling up the note and moving to throw it away. But, you stop at the last second, letting out a heavy sigh. Flattening out the little paper and folding it over carefully, you slide it into a safe spot in your wallet instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot's moving faster than I intended, but unlike my other fic with a linear timeline, I decided that this should work in a more crazy, disjointed fashion. See also: Tag for time travel :P
> 
> Also, just wanted to say that I have NOTHING against realtors - I love 'em, in fact, and have a couple in my city I would recommend in a heartbeat to anyone looking to buy or sell a house. This reader character is just kind of cynical and bored of the paperwork that has to be put together for them, and I acknowledge that not everybody loves realtors because there are some bad ones out there. But this writer? I think they're good people. Makes the process so much easier if you get the right one :)


	3. The Smoke.

“You really are kind of a punk, aren’t you?”

Roman looks over at you from where he’s leaning against a brick wall in between two large windows of the sports bar you keep finding him at. He’s wearing an ivory sweater under his leather jacket this time, which in the streetlights somehow makes his bone white face look even paler. Smoke is still curling out of his teeth as he smushes his cigarette against the wall behind him to put it out.

“Sorry, I know you don’t like the smoke,” he says. Seeing the confused shift in your expression, he slaps his forehead with a loud clacking sound. “Damn, I just did it again, didn’t I?”

You huff. “Would it kill you to live your days a bit more-“

“-Consecutively?” he interrupts, chuckling. “That won’t be the last time you ask that question.”

“Well, _would_ it?” you growl.

He sighs. “No, it wouldn’t kill me, but… I have to get used to using my magic. I can only get better at it, more stable, with lots of practice.”

“That’s a _you_ problem,” you grumble, moving to lean against the brick beside him. “The thing _I’m_ worried about is what the hell random thing are you going to say or do next?”

“I don’t follow,” he answers honestly, golden eye watching you curiously.

“Nevermind,” you roll your eyes, fixing your gaze away from him.

“Hmm,” he hums thoughtfully.

Both of you gaze up at the night sky. It’s late enough that the sky has darkened but the sun is still threatening to set it’s still distinguishably blue. The clouds are getting thicker where they’re rolling in from the northwest, surely bringing rain and lightning along with them. Your mind starts to wander, wondering what you should try and pry out of him next. Why isn’t he very good with his magic? Hasn’t he had his whole life to learn? And… What was it like, for him, in Underground, not being able to control where or _when_ he ends up all the time? Should you tell him about yesterday, at the park? Or would that be-

“What is our relationship right now?” he asks, breaking the silence. You startle a bit, a blush racing to your cheeks before you can stop it. His eye sockets widen seeing your face as you glare away. “Oh! Is that good or bad?” He sounds a bit shocked.

“We’re barely more than acquaintances,” you bark back.

“Oh good,” he sighs, sounding relieved. “I’m somewhere around ‘acquaintances’ as well.”

“Why does your control over your magic suck so bad that you bounce around the timeline?” you ask finally. “I don’t really know that much about monsters, but I thought that’s something that you guys mastered as kids or something?”

He laughs softly at that, looking up at the cloudy sky. “I’m a special case,” he sighs. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah. I mean, why not?”

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

“I don’t get that,” you grumble. “You don’t have any of the organs they’re supposed to destroy.”

His eye sockets widen slightly in surprise before he laughs. “I suppose I don’t.”

Roman withdraws a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his back pocket. Sliding one out of the package and resting it between his teeth, he looks at you for permission with the lighter poised to smolder the tip of his cig. You roll your eyes again, then nod. The corners of his mouth turn up in a slight smile as a flame flicks at the cigarette, smoke rolling away from it a beat later as he returns the package to its home in his jeans.

“I guess I like the taste,” he says finally. “And the sensation of rolling the smoke around in my mouth,” he breathes out and away from you. “And the idea that humans have so many ways to poison themselves for the sake of feeling good. It’s fascinating to me.”

“Nicotine’s a hard habit to kick,” you observe.

“It doesn’t actually do anything for me,” he claims. “I can stop any time I want.”

“That’s what they all say,” you grin.

He chuckles a bit at that. “Anyways, you had a question about my magic?” he asks rhetorically, but you nod anyway. “Well… As I said, I’m a special case. You’re absolutely right – Monsters spend their formative years mastering their magic. Boss monsters especially, since they get something a bit extra than physical magic and basic healing. I on the other hand… Well, I don’t have any of that,” he finishes with a drag.

“Any of what?”

“Formative years,” he exhales more smoke. “Practice time. At least, not any that I can remember.”

“You don’t remember your childhood?”

He taps the cigarette idly, clearing the tip of ashes. “I don’t remember anything about myself from before about six months ago.” he pauses. “It’s early May twenty-sixteen, correct?” he verifies absently.

You nod. “So, amnesia then.”

“I suppose it applies,” he sighs. “But I can’t travel back to before when I ‘started’. There’s some sort of block, or void, that I can’t get past. Although, I’m not sure that I truly want to. My brother seems to think it’s a bad idea to try.”

“If you didn’t exist six months ago, exactly _how_ do you have a brother?” you demand.

“I have two brothers,” he clarifies. “And they sort of adopted me, I guess? Even though I’m physically older than both of them,” he chuckles. “I even picked my name based off of theirs – Apparently skeleton monsters like names based on terrible computer fonts. Don’t ask – I really don’t know.”

“So, Roman is short for Times New Roman?” you guess. “Wow, how did I _not_ see that coming with how much of a dork you already are?”

He grins at that. “I thought it would work for me. After all, I control time… And yet, I’m fairly new. My brother thought it was clever,” he shrugs, taking another drag on his cigarette. “Do you have any other questions for me?” he asks, his one faintly luminescent eye somehow meeting both of yours.

“I guess my question about Underground is kind of redundant, since you weren’t there before or after the barrier broke,” you shrug.

“Right,” he says, smoke rolling out of his teeth. He’s careful to exhale downwind of you, you notice. “I’ve only ever visited a couple of times.”

“What for?”

“I wanted to see relics of a past I can’t remember, as it might help me put together my history?” He taps his cigarette idly. “And, I wanted to get a good look at the Core, too – That’s a massive geothermal power plant based in Underground. My brother says his dad built it, but since he’s been gone no one knows how it works. Well,” he beams, pride rolling off of him in waves. “I managed to figure it out.”

“And because it was _so easy_ for you to figure out how a monster tech geothermal power plant that no one knows anything about works,” you observe. “You decided to try and build one on the surface.”

“Right. I suppose,” he stammers, raising the eyebrow ridge above his empty socket slightly at you with an unspoken question.

“Sarcasm – Learn it,” you sigh. “I’m sure it wasn’t actually _that_ easy to figure out how an entire power plant works.”

“Weirdly enough, it came naturally to me, actually.”

He snuffs out the butt of his cigarette after taking one final pull, exhaling the cloud of smoke immediately. It’s eerie watching a skeleton exhale smoke, you think. And maybe… Maybe just a little… Enchanting? No, you shake your head to dismiss the thought from your brain immediately. No way are you attracted to this creepy weird skeleton monster who can’t even keep his days straight.

“Something wrong?” Roman asks, watching you cautiously.

“Nothing. Nevermind,” you mumble.

“If you ever have any questions you want answered, you should ask them whenever you have the chance,” he says. “I mean, I don’t really know how this is going to work, with my timeline being all out of order because I can’t use my magic very well yet, but… Well, if we’re going to keep being acquaintances for a while you might as well get all the information you can out of me early on.”

“Hmm,” you ponder. “Here’s a weird question then; Where do you see yourself in five years?”

He laughs openly at that. “Is that a real question? Or, should I try and jump ahead to find out?”

“It’s a real question,” you say, annoyed. “Humour me.”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, sliding his bony hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans as he does so. “I want to gain control over my magic,” he nods. “And finish my project. But other than that, I have no real plans.”

“What about a relationship?” you fluster. Why are you even asking him about this again? Come on _____, pull it _together,_ woman! “Or like, a family or something?” How do you stop your mouth from moving?

“Are you sure we’re just acquaintances _____?” his eyes narrow at you, blue tinting his cheeks again. “Or, are you asking me ou-“

“Just answer the damn awkward question already,” you huff, crossing your arms protectively over your chest. “And don’t get any stupid ideas about it.”

“All right,” he relents. “No, I haven’t really considered anything like that. How could I? Like you said, I can’t keep my timeline consecutive. Besides,” he adds. “I mentioned I’m a boss monster, right? So, I have a decision.” He pulls his hands from his pocket, holding out his palms in front of him like they’re the plates on a scale. “I could have children,” he raises a hand. “Or… I could live forever,” he raises the other hand and lowers the first. “Boss monsters only age when they have offspring,” he explains.

“Huh,” you breathe, surprised. “Lucky you,”

Roman chuckles. “Maybe I’ll change my mind, or get bored of immortality sooner or later. But I don’t feel compelled to start a serious relationship, or to have children. I think I should probably figure out myself first, and get my timeline straightened out. But, I know I’ll have all the time in the world to change my mind later,” he winks his empty socket at you.

You groan at the subtle pun. Of course he’ll have the _time_ , he’s a goddamned _time traveler_. His yellow left eye seems to shine a little brighter, enjoying your reaction with an expression full of mirth.

“_____,” he starts, sliding his cellphone out of his jeans pocket. “Would you like to trade numbers? So you can ask me anything whenever you want.”

“That seems a little too familiar for me. No thanks,” you refuse.

“At least let me give you mine,” he persists. “It’s not necessary for me to have your number for you to text me. And, that way, you don’t ever have to, if you truly don’t want to.”

You glance down at his phone, then back up at his eyes. “You know something I don’t.”

He smiles shyly, glancing off to the side as he slides his phone away. “You caught me. I’ve actually already received some texts from you,” he says, running a bone palm along the back of his skull nervously. “They were… You were pretty angry with me. But it was from before I met you, so I had no idea who you were or what I’d done wrong. For whatever it might be worth – I’m sorry, in advance.”

“Ugh. Well, if it’s inevitable,” you grumble, unzipping your purse and taking out your phone. “Fine. Put your number in. And don’t give yourself a dumb name for your contact, just put ‘Roman’. I _hate_ not knowing who I’m calling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Puns, references, and skelebros! My fave chapter so far. I've decided that this fic takes place in the same world/timeline as my other story, Not Your Doll, but about three to four years later. Which means, man, I really have to catch up writing NYD in order to avoid dumping huge spoilers in this one. Or, I could just continue to be super vague about what the rest of the cast is doing. Hmmmm.
> 
> Does anyone have any guesses as to what this reader's soul colour is yet? :)


	4. The Bridge.

“Wait. Wait, and shut the hell right up,” you snap. “What’s our relationship to you right now?”

Roman’s smile falls as his arms drop to his sides, slowing his approach. He grumbles slightly as he withdraws his pack of smokes, quickly sliding one out and lighting it. He leans against the railing of the bridge you’ve met on, looking out at the smoke stacks around the industrial lake.

You sigh, standing and leaning against the railing next to him. Life with Roman was getting more and more confusing by the day. One minute, he’s insisting he wants nothing to do with you, a relationship, or really anyone because it’s ‘too hard to keep track’, and then the next he’s having flowers delivered to your work and not even remembering that he did it. That was irritating to try and explain to your coworkers. You’d had to tell them it was a secret admirer, because honestly the truth would probably have you committed.

“I take it it’s further in the timeline for you than it is for me then, eh?” you infer from his frustrated expression.

He takes a long drag on his cigarette and exhales the curling smoke away from you. “I _hate_ this,” he growls. “One minute we’re…” he trails off, waving his hands erratically and blushing that weird blue colour. “… And then the next, you barely even _know_ me.”

“You _know_ there’s nothing I can do about that, right? It’s not _my_ fault you’re jumping all over time,” you roll your eyes. “Why don’t you just stop trying to manipulate time and just live your days in order like the rest of us?”

“I can’t,” he says honestly. “I don’t have control over it. Not yet, at least. But I’m trying.”

“So, it’s _random?_ ” you inquire. “You don’t actually _know_ where you are or where you’re going to end up?”

He nods stiffly.

“You left me with the impression last time that you had more control than that!”

“I’m sorry,” he looks at you meekly. “I have to lie a lot in order to appear like I make sense. You’re right – I often jump without meaning to, and haven’t a clue where or when I am.”

“Why not just check a calendar or something?”

He scoffs. “How would that help me? A calendar doesn’t mark itself.”

“I _meant_ like on your phone, or the computer or something,” you admonish. “Hell, a newspaper subscription would be a decent idea. It’d have the current date printed at the top.”

He shakes his head. “Frankly it’s a miracle I manage to get my bills paid on time. No, what I need is an anchor. Someone who can help me keep track.”

You groan loudly. “That’s me, isn’t it.”

He laughs, smoke billowing out of his teeth in gusts. “Sorry beautiful.”

“ _Don’t call me that_ ,” you snap. “And what if I don’t _want_ to?”

“I suspect I’ll wear you down,” he grins slyly.

Something cracks deep inside of you and you feel your anger boiling up. How fucking DARE he.

“This whole thing is fucking _BULLSHIT!_ ” you seethe. “I _HATE_ this! I hate your smarmy attitude and your stupid _random_ flirting and how you talk like _the entire rest of my life_ is FUCKING _PREDESTINED!_ ”

“Do you honestly think this is _any_ easier for me?” he rasps back, his head jerking to glower down at you as he flicks his cigarette into the polluted waters below. “When I see you, I see my girlfriend, but you’re not always. Just _once_ , I’d like to be able to _kiss you_ without getting my skull caved in for it!”

“I wish I never met you,” you snarl back, fighting the prickly heat behind your eyes.

His eye sockets narrow as he staggers away from you, a pained expression overtaking his skeletal features. “You don’t mean that,” he chokes out.

Pushing away from the railing of the bridge, you turn to storm off, only for Roman to grab the sleeve of your blazer.

“Let go of me!” you sputter, the tears clawing their way free and spilling all over your heated cheeks.

He pulls you into him, wrapping his hard bone arms all the way around you and holding you tightly, pinning your arms to your sides. “No,” he says by your ear in a ragged whisper. “Not until you calm down.”

“You think _restraining me_ is going to calm me down!?” you struggle, but his grip is inescapable. How can a guy with literally no muscle mass manage to keep hold of you so well? His arms are pressed roughly against yours, but weirdly he’s not hurting you, even though he’s all hard angles. “Let me go, or I swear I’ll fucking scream,” you warn the ivory sweater he has your face pressed against.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, his voice going shaky. “Please, just… Just, calm down, okay?”

“When has asking someone to calm down, in the history of everything, actually _made_ someone calm down?” you grumble angrily.

He exhales sharply, like he’s caught between a laugh and a sob, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he just continues to hold you in his grip. His chest is hard, but surprisingly warm.

Realizing that he’s going to insist on holding you until you manage to relax a bit, you decide to take some deep breaths. You regret this decision almost immediately, since his sweater smells like smoke. Although, you notice, there’s a strong minty smell that helps to cover it. And a faint trace of… Lavender? Despite yourself you feel yourself relaxing at the warmth and the mix of smells that make up his scent. As you do, his grip loosens and he tangles a bony hand in your hair, scratching pleasantly at your scalp to soothe you. It’s not fair that he knows all of your weak spots when you barely even know him as a person.

“Thank you, _____,” he breathes.

“Asshole,” you counter. “You’re lucky your sweater doesn’t reek of smoke too badly.”

He finally loosens his grip on you, but his hands slide up to hold you by your shoulders instead. He leans his head down close to yours, forcing eye contact, his eyes half-lidded and longing. “_____,” he mumbles. “May I kiss you?”

You bristle. “What? No!”

Roman sighs. “I had to try, I’m sorry. Well… Can I tell you a story, then?”

“What kind of story?”

“It’s not a long one, I promise – I know today’s been confusing enough. It’s a story about… Well, it’s actually a memory. My first memory, of my first day of existence.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is shorter than I intended it to be, and I'm tired so it's not my best editing job either. I hope it still reads okay :) And if it doesn't, I'm sure I'll read and fix it in the morning. Good night all :P
> 
> Next chapter: Even more exposition! It's going to be a theme.


	5. The Coffee.

“Did you really need to get coffee first? Or is this supposed to be some kind of date?” you snarl.

He laughs softly at that, rolling his ceramic mug in his hands, bone fingers softly clicking against it. “I just needed some caffeine to help me concentrate. You’re too distracting sometimes, love.”

“Whatever. Tell me your story already,” you sigh, defeated.

Roman takes a small sip of coffee, setting it down with a loud clink and immediately tearing open another sugar packet, emptying the contents into his mug and picking up the small spoon by his hand to stir it. That’s five sugars he’s added to it now, you think. You wonder if he actually even wanted it in the first place, or if he suggested the change in location just to placate you. He must have known that this was your favourite little hole in the wall coffee shop, and had ordered you your latte just the way you like it, without even asking what you wanted. He’d insisted on paying, too.

“The very first thing I remember was falling onto the floor,” he says after taking another experimental sip, grimacing at the bitter taste, and reaching for more sugar. “I guess I was standing in whatever that machine was, and lost my balance. My hands,” he pauses, holding his bony hands out in front of himself and looking at them forlornly. “They had these round holes in my palms. It was so confusing.”

Before you can ask any questions, he continues with a faraway look in his eyes. “I had no idea who I was, where I was, or what I had just stumbled out of. Or, why there was a human and a skeleton monster both staring at me from across the room.”

“I remember feeling very confused. And angry – I didn’t like seeing that human there, but I’ve never fully understood why. Even more confusing, was when the skeleton shot me an angry glare back, and stepped in front of her protectively. I thought ‘Why is he protecting her?’ Nothing made any sense, least of all my initial reactions to it.”

“Then,” he hesitates. “Then he tried to kill me.”

“What? Why?” you ask, baffled.

“It came up later, but he was expecting someone else to step out of that machine. Not… _Me_. He was experimenting with the timeline, trying to bring back somebody that he’d lost, somebody that shouldn’t exist – A couple of somebodies, actually, but one at a time,” He sips his coffee absently, letting out a short frustrated noise at the flavour. “Well, technically, I shouldn’t exist either, but somehow when he reached into the timeline he pulled me out, instead. He was furious about it. We fought, but then he decided not to dust me. It wasn’t my fault I didn’t even know what he was screaming about.”

“He thinks I’m not from this timeline, but another one for a parallel world where things were a bit different – Monsters were still underground, still hated humans – It’d explain my reactions, at the least. He hasn’t completely explained who he thinks I’m supposed to be, but from the way he looks at me sometimes… I’m not sure I want to know. I’m pretty sure he resents me, though, for that and because his machine hasn’t worked since me, so whoever he was trying to save isn’t coming back,” Roman says sadly. “I wish there was something I could do to help, but I can’t travel back to before that day, and he’s said that maybe what happened to them is irreversible after all, and that he was naïve to try. My brother carries a lot of guilt over it, but it’s hard for me to get him to open up.”

“Any way,” Roman continues. “That first day, I remember very clearly. Every thought, every smell, every sound, every sensation – I can accurately relive every single part of that experience. The days following, however? They’re disjointed. Messy. Fragments, bits and pieces of time, running into each other in a disorganized fashion. Moments clumsily strung together.” He shakes his head. “I’m not explaining it very well, let me try again: I would be at my brother’s house, having a conversation with him, but when I went to ask a question or to answer one of his, he’d suddenly be in the next room or not at home at all. I was stuck bouncing around through very short fragments of time. I couldn’t keep any of it straight.”

“My brother figured it out before I did, and started leaving notes and post-its all over his house to help me. He gave me some instructions on how to feel my magic, and how to try and control it.” He sighs, stirring his now cold coffee with the spoon idly. “I’m a lot better at it now, but while I can manage to keep it together during the day, I relax too much at night while asleep, and in the morning, I could be anywhere in my timeline.”

“What happened to your hands?” you interrupt finally, curiosity boiling out of you as he hasn’t explained it yet. None of the small bones that would otherwise make up a human skeleton’s hands are there – Instead, he had these solid pieces of bone for the palms of his hands, and they were lacking any holes when he’d mentioned having some earlier. “You said they _had_ holes in them – They don’t anymore?”

“Oh!” he starts, then smiles. “My niece fixed them up. She’s amazing – I’ve introduced you to her, but I guess that’s still to come for you, eh?” He taps at his face with his left hand to indicate the crack going below his golden left eye. “She didn’t want to fix the cracks, though – She said they make me look cool,” he chuckles.

“ _Anyways_ ,” you dismiss bluntly with a wave of your hand. It’s not that you don’t care about his little niece – Kids are great and all, and you’re curious how she managed to heal solid bone – But you feel like he could easily get off track talking about her. There’s a wistful twinkle in his eye and you think he could probably go on for hours. “Is that all you had to tell me? About your first day of ‘existence’, I guess?”

“Right,” he nods. “Back on track: The reason I told you all this was, well… I knew that I _would_ , early on in our relationship, so I wanted to get that out of the way so you can understand me better. But,” he holds up a hand, index finger upraised. “It was also to make the point that I didn’t really ask for any of this – Existence, time travel, our complicated life together-“

“Don’t say together,” you sneer.

“Our complicated life _together_ ,” he repeats with emphasis and a grin, enjoying your ire too much for your liking. You hide the furious reddening of your cheeks with a tactful slurp of the last dribbles of your latte. “I didn’t ask to exist,” he states firmly. “Then again, I suppose no one really does. My point is, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen - I don’t want to make your life difficult, but my difficult nature and tendency for my days to be out of order kind of makes it that way. I’m sorry, but I can’t help it.”

“When do you think you’ll get your magic under control?” you ask.

He sighs. “I don’t know, but my brother seems to think it’ll take at least two years for me. I just need to figure out how to keep myself current while asleep, then learn how to use it intentionally, and control where I end up. Listen,” he says, pausing to withdraw the spoon from the cold coffee and tap it clear of drops, setting it on the small serving plate beside. “Do you keep a diary?”

You groan, rolling your eyes. “No, why?”

“You should start,” he nods. “It will help us both keep better track.”

That’s actually not the worst idea in the world, you think to yourself. “I’ll consider it, but I don’t make any promises.”

“Good,” he smiles. “The next time you see me, please, remind me to write in mine. I’m terrible at remembering to,” he chuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh gods the exposition, also why is this too fun to write? XD Anyways, the expositionary chapters will start to slow down now, with all of this out in the open and everything. After that we can get to awkward timeline shenanigans and fluff! Because that's what this fic is made for! I need more G!Sans fluff in my life. He's freakishly adorable.
> 
> Although I need to really be careful I don't get ahead of myself, I have to tiptoe around major spoilers when mentioning his family. My friend who critiques my writing before it goes up says I've basically got my own AU I'm building up between this and my other two stories (And a fourth I haven't posted yet - gods help me). I wonder what I should call it? ;P
> 
> Thanks, as always, for reading and leaving your wonderful comments. They fill me with determination <3


	6. The Rain.

“Oh hey,” Roman calls. “It’s you again.”

The city sky is full of dark grey clouds, threatening to rain. Thunder murmurs on the horizon. Roman’s leaning against the painted black metal fence that borders the park across the street from your office, idly smoking a cigarette. He’s wearing that leather jacket again, and his non-cigarette hand is clutching an umbrella prepared for the rain. You’d thought he was waiting for you intentionally, but he seems genuinely surprised to see you.

“Not trying to kiss me this time?” you ask dryly.

“ _Kiss_ you?” he asks, hard expression shocked. “Why would I kiss a _human?_ That seems like a terrible idea.”

“Early days, then,” you observe, letting out a breath. “That’s a relief.”

“What have I done?” he asks, clearly worried about his potential future actions.

“Plenty you shouldn’t have,” you huff. Sighing, you add “But try not to worry about it, I guess. Say - Do you keep a diary?”

“I do…” he muses. “Why?”

“Start writing in it. Get your timeline in order,” you order him.

“What would be the point,” he grumbles, flicking ash from his cigarette. “Every time I open it, it’s completely different.”

“All the more reason to write in it!” you scold. “ _Look_ ,” you say, fishing a small spiral bound notebook from the depths of your purse. It’s one of those cheap dollar store notebooks with two hundred sheets of lined paper between the soft purple plastic covers and a wide metal spiral to hold it together for the spine. A cheap blue pen is hooked on the inside of the metal wire binding by its cap. “I have one too I’m writing. It’s the best way for us to keep track of where the hell our lives are at.”

Ugh, you did _not_ just think ‘us’. You are not a couple, you are never dating a skeleton. If anything, maybe you two become good friends, you theorize, recalling how he knew your coffee order without even asking. Maybe he’s just teasing you during the time jumps because you’re just really comfortable with each other later? Yeah, that must be it. He’s just taking advantage of jumping in the past and trying to throw you off your game.

“Why would you show me your diary?” he asks innocently, distracting you from your internal monologue. Then his eye sockets widen, golden disc in his left eye darting between contact with each of yours. “Wait – That book isn’t about me, is it?” He brings his bony right hand, still clutching the smoke between his phalanges, up to cover his dark eye socket, yellow eye scanning something unseen and distant to the left of you. “Oh my god. What did I do!? Or, _will_ do?” He struggles for a moment, then he glances back up at you imploringly. “Can I read it?”

“What? No!” you snap back defensively. Your cheeks feel a bit heated, but it must just be the cold wind picking up from the storm rolling in. May was turning out to be a crappy month, you think, but the fact that April had still been rather cold and snowy was probably contributing to the awful climate.

“Please? I have to know what I’ve done,” he whimpers, discarding the cigarette butt and umbrella without a thought. He reaches for the book but you reflexively jerk your hand away. He lunges again and you have to take a step back to keep it out of his grasp. “I’m sorry!”

This goes on for a minute, you either deflecting his hands or involuntarily squeaking as he grabs at you. He’s too close, you flush, alarm bells sounding in your head. _Way_ _too close_. Finally he gets tired of clutching at air a beat behind the book, so he grabs you instead, a bony arm holding you against him firmly by the waist as you yelp your flustered surprise. You hold the book desperately way up and behind your head, fortunately just too far away for his long arms to reach. He grumbles his frustration as he tries to wrestle you into a different position so he can finally snatch it.

You manage to break free after elbowing him hard in the ribs (Which doesn’t make him stumble after having the wind knocked out of him like you’d hoped, but you guess it makes sense with Roman’s lack of lungs), and jog a short distance away and unhook the pen from its spiral enclosure, uncapping it and opening it to the blank page after your latest entry. “May twenty-sixth,” you sass loudly, scribbling onto the paper as he watches you, horrified. “Roman’s _still_ a jackass. Now he’s lunging at me and trying to steal my diary,” you smirk to yourself.

“That’s not funny,” he grumbles. “Please? I _have_ to know.”

His expression is so pained and frustrated all at once, and a little bit helpless. It fills you with a perverse joy, twistedly enjoying the look he gives you when you resist and won’t let him have his way. Water drops onto his face and drips down his skull, surprising him and making his eye sockets widen, his frustration melting away as more rain falls onto his face. You quickly stuff the diary back into your purse to keep the frail pages from getting soaked.

“Aren’t you going to pick up your umbrella?” you ask, watching him close his eyes and hold out his arms. “Or, are you just going to stand there and get soaked like a weirdo?”

He lets out a noise that you can only describe as a giggle – It’s high and mirthful, at least, but not quite a full blown fit of laughter. “This is only the second time I’ve felt the rain,” he says. “It feels… Amazing. Wonderful. Unique.”

“Really?” you ask.

He nods, his trance not broken, eye sockets gently closed. His shoulders droop as he relaxes under the torrent. You can only shiver in your coat, watching him as you feel the frigid wetness leeching through to your clothes. He doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon, so you pick up his discarded umbrella and open it to protect yourself. Then, thinking better of it, you move to stand next to him and hold it high above his head. Roman scrunches his eyes, noticing the sudden shade of the umbrella and the wet rainfall no longer hitting his bones. He looks down at you with an unspoken question on his lips, grasping the umbrella stem just above your hand. You flinch slightly at the near contact of his bones against your skin.

“I was getting soaked,” you explain, making an attempt at a casual shrug. “And, I realized, that water isn’t good for your jacket.”

“Oh!” he starts. “Oh, well I suppose it’s not. I forgot for a moment,” he says, nervously running a hand along the back of his skull.

You sigh. “I much prefer early days you,” you express. Wait, did you just say that out loud? “You push my buttons a whole lot less,” you explain. Your mouth was running away from you again – Damn your impulsivity. “Don’t worry about the future so much, okay? Just, try and live your life in the moment.”

“Live in the moment,” he repeats slowly. His deep masculine voice coupled with his warm proximity sends a shiver racing down your spine. “That’s not bad advice,” he admits.

“Its _terrible_ advice,” you scoff. “But, I guess it depends how you apply it. What I _mean_ is, don’t try and get ahead of yourself – But, do start keeping a diary. We should have something to start comparing notes with.”

There’s that ‘we’ again. You look up at him. He has a faraway expression again, his free hand clinking against the bone of his lower jaw deep in thought. He has no reaction to your closeness like you do to his. To him, you are utterly platonic right now – Barely acquaintances, even. To him, he hasn’t conceived of any romantic interest in you, least of all a _human_. You remember his distaste at the word, at the idea, of kissing a human. Of kissing _you_. It should relieve you that he’s _not_ going to try and sweep you off your feet tonight, or surprise you with a kiss, or do anything that you’re going to have to rail against because he’s further along in a timeline where you two are supposedly dating. It _should_ relieve you, but it doesn’t. Instead, your chest just _aches_. But why?

“Your cheeks are very red. Oh! Do you have a fever?” he asks, suddenly concerned and pressing his boney fingers against your face abruptly. “You feel very warm,” he observes. “Sorry, I’m not much for human biology yet, but I’ve read about basic illnesses.”

No blue lighting his own cheeks. Not even a hint that he registers some kind of attraction to you. Why does it _hurt?_ Is it because he’s constantly pushing your boundaries? Always somehow managing to invade your personal space? Always talking to you as if he’s known you for a very long time? You shudder at the thought.

“I’m not _sick_ , Roman,” you bat his hand away, glancing off to the side. “But I will be if we stay out in this crappy weather for much longer,” you nod, gesturing towards the sky. Thunder booms as if to punctuate your point.

“Right! Of course,” he acknowledges quickly. “You should get somewhere warm, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently I had to write some more Domestic Life today because I'm hopeless. Reader's starting to have some feels and frustrated that they don't line up with his. Spoiler alert: This happens a lot. ;P


	7. The Apartment.

It actually took some prompting to get him to walk you back to your apartment. That annoys you, because now you’re worried that he’s going to think you’re hitting on him, when it’s usually the other way around. You rarely drive to work – It’s only when you think to bring your laptop home or back to work that you bother to waste the gas, so since you only had your purse today there was no reason to bother. Forgot an umbrella of your own though, and with your coat soaking through you wanted to scam the space under Roman’s while you could.

“This is where you live?” he asks as you approach the front doors of the building. His eyes widen slightly as he drinks in the detail of the immaculately crafted lobby; Granite columns that are mostly grey with shiny flecks of colour here and there, a glass chandelier and other hanging lights to illuminate the space, black leather couches in a sitting area by the elevators, and black tile floors. A bright green rug was laid out in stark contrast to the greys and blacks, running from the front door and extending in one solid piece over to the elevator doors. You think it’s a bit excessive considering the rather plain look to your apartment. Up there it had floor to ceiling windows that only made you self-conscious, a clawfoot tub in your bathroom, and a bar counter off the side of your kitchen, but otherwise it was just a space to live in. It _was_ spacious though. More space than you’d ever need.

“I have a friend high up in the company,” you boast. “We went to school together. She gave me a good deal.”

“Aha,” he understands. “Well, you’re home now, so I should get going.”

“Do you want to come up for tea or something?” you offer, mouth getting ahead of your brain again.

His eye sockets narrow. “Meaning what, exactly?” he rasps, a hostile edge to his voice.

“Meaning _exactly_ what it sounds like,” you bark back. “It’s cold and wet out there, so I’m offering you a hot drink before you head back out in that mess. That’s it.”

“I may not technically be very old,” he states, shaking his head resolutely. “But I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“Why? What do _you_ think I’m getting at?” you challenge, leaning against a granite column and folding your arms.

He flushes at that and glances away.

“Well?” your eyes narrow. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Women are always…” he stumbles. “It’s a social convention, a euphemism for…”

“Go on,” you persevere.

He holds his bony hands up in surrender. “Look, I don’t want to impose.”

“That’s a lie,” you point out. “But, I can tell you’re clearly uncomfortable, so I won’t push. Go home, Roman.”

“I feel like I just screwed something up,” he mumbles helplessly. “I’m very sorry.”

“It’s whatever,” you shrug, moving from the pillar and pressing the button to call the elevator. “Try not to catch a cold out there.”

“Skeletons don’t get colds.”

“Lucky you, then,” you grin. “Write in your diary!” you call after him as he’s leaving.

He idly waves a hand without turning around as the automatic doors slide open to let him pass through.

Too bad, you think. Wait, really brain? _‘Too bad’?_ You scoff out loud as the elevator dings and opens, stepping inside. Ridiculous.

The swipe card reader inside the elevator doesn’t seem to want to scan your whole wallet today like the one outside the building did, so you have to dig into it to withdraw your electronic pass card. Unnecessary security, you’d argue, but figured nobody would listen. As you wrench it from where it’s entrenched itself in your wallet, a scrap of paper slides out with it when it finally breaks free. You scoop it up to see what it is.

It’s the lottery numbers a Roman from two years from now gave you.

You sigh, swiping your card as the elevator gives an authoritative confirmation beep and select your floor. As the elevator swiftly climbs to your floor, and your ears pop from the height of it, you wonder… Is that future fixed, is it going to happen no matter what you do? Or, can it be changed?

For safety, you tuck Roman’s note into a different spot in your wallet. You make a mental note to ask him next time, maybe when he’s visiting from the future again.

* * *

 

*** why aren’t you home? :)**

The text message came just as you were settling in to bed for the night. You frown at the contact. It’s Roman.

*** What do you mean? I am home.**

*** no you’re not :(**

*** Check the date, moron,** you roll your eyes.

*** oh. sorry. uhh, wrong number?**

*** Nice try, Roman.**

*** shit, sorry _____.**

*** So I guess we live together at some point?** you frown. **How on earth does that happen?**

*** i’m sorry. i should’ve checked the date first. no wonder our text history was almost blank. i’m a bit impulsive.**

*** How are you even in a different part of your timeline now?** you ask. **You were just here earlier.**

 *** i took a nap.** Ah, that makes sense. **i lose track when i sleep. didn’t think i would this time though.**

*** Hey, since you’re up anyways, I have a question for you.**

*** what’s up?**

*** Can the future be changed? Or is us living together and dating inevitable?**

He takes a long time before responding. You nestle deeper into your comfortable bedsheets as you wait.

 *** dating??** he asks finally.

*** So we’re living together, but not dating yet for you?**

*** i didn’t think you wanted to ;) maybe i’ll ask next time.**

*** Ugh. Anyways, can the future be changed or not?**

He’s silent for a while again.

*** why do you want to know?**

*** Just curious I guess.**

*** do you want it to change?**

*** I don’t know,** you answer honestly.

*** if it did change, you wouldn’t notice.**

*** How can you be sure?**

*** i know someone who can edit timelines.**

*** Really? Who??**

*** that’s top secret,** he texts. You sigh. **but, if you’re experiencing and remembering things i did in the future, then that’s the future that was picked, no ifs or buts about it. sorry if that’s not the answer you were looking for.**

 *** I wasn’t looking for a particular answer,** you groan.

*** sure you weren’t.**

***Ugh. Good night Roman.**

*** night night _____.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a confession to make: Unlike my other story which has so much plot I could choke you with it, this one is really very random and freeform. I have no idea what crazy thing is going to happen next when I write a chapter, it just sort of... Happens. There's only a couple of significant plot points to make, but they all revolve around their relationship, making it awkward to write because their relationship, by definition, is awkward.
> 
> They can keep their diaries and compare notes all they want, but they'll never be on the same page. D:


	8. The Promotion.

“Is that everything for today?” you ask.

Steven looks down at you sitting at your tidy desk. Everything had its place – The deals you had finished were set at the head of your desk in a tray for him to grab and sign off on, and the two ‘in’ and ‘in progress’ trays behind you sat empty, for once. Your cube walls held no pictures of either pets or family, only notes and reminders of legal codes used within the office and real estate law. Your pens were even lined up in an orderly fashion, like troops standing at attention, but actually lying flat on your desk above where your computer mouse sat, with a pair of sticky note pads squared off against them. You didn’t generally think of yourself as an organized person, but you tried to make your desk give that impression, so you went to fussy and intricate lengths to make sure of it.

“One last thing today,” Steven says, holding up a finger to emphasize the pause. You resist letting out the sigh you’re holding as it wouldn’t be professional. “I’d like you to pack up your desk.”

Pack up your desk? A wellspring of panic bursts inside of you. “Am I being fired!?” you utter in shock, quivering slightly.

“Oh!” Steven gasps. “Heavens, no! I’m so sorry, that came out all wrong.”

You let out that sigh. Steven had a knack for saying the wrong thing. You quietly wonder how he ever managed to become a lawyer in the first place. Clear, concise communication was so important in this business, but Steven often forgot himself. That’s probably why, you figure, that he’s been assigned to handle all of the real estate deals in the broad-purposed law firm. You were the one calling realtors and reviewing contracts, while he would sign the paperwork and meet with new homeowners briefly. Often very briefly. You know he’s smart from your conversations about various offers, but verbally he was missing some tact.

“Then… Why do I need to pack up my desk?” you ask warily.

“To move your things to your new office, of course,” he shoves his hands in his pockets and grumbles out. Office?? “The partners are unable to come by to tell you personally, and I hate to lose you off of our team, but… They recognize your hard work and dedication, and know you’re interested in family law. So, they’ve made a spot for you on Carol’s team as her intermediate.”

Your mouth falls open slightly at that, feeling the blood retreating from your face. “That’s… I mean…”

“Congratulations,” he finally says. “You’ve earned it. I will miss your hard work, but after five years, you deserve this.” He extends his hand for you to shake.

“Thank you,” you grip his offered hand eagerly in your own, bobbing it up and down perhaps a little more enthusiastically than you intended. Steven chuckles at that.

“Now, hurry up and pack your things, I need an available desk for my new clerk that starts on Monday,” he grins. You smile at that. Blunt as always.

* * *

“ _I GOT A PROMOTION!!!_ ” you screech excitedly into the phone.

“Wow, grats _____!” she replies joyfully, attempting to match your enthusiasm. “You sound really happy!”

“Want to join me for drinks, Busybee? I want to get utterly shitfaced tonight,” you tell her. Bianca was one of your best friends in college, but shortly after starting her career she met a handsome lawyer, fell in love, popped out a kid and was now a full-time stay at home mom. Busybee was your nickname for her when you had class together, as she was usually looking for extra credit assignments from the prof.

“OH! Well, I’d love to, but I think my little man will get refused at the door,” she chuckles softly.

“Come _onnnn!_ ” you grumble. “What if we went to a restaurant or something? We can stick your spawn in a high chair with some chicken fingers and crayons – Not both at once, though. Where’s his dad, anyway?”

“Working late,” she sighs. “As usual. Said he had an emergency motion to complete, might not be back until the early AM. Anyways, uh, it’s one of Anthony’s bad days, so I don’t think taking him out of the house is a good idea tonight anyway. Sorry, _____,” she apologizes sheepishly.

“Ugh, all right. I know who wears the pants in that relationship,” you tease. Bee chuckes. “We’ve _got_ to hang out some time soon, all right? Promise me you’ll get a day off and come hang with me,” you order.

“I can’t do drinks,” she sighs. “But, if you don’t mind Tony tagging along, maybe we can go for lunch some time?”

“Are you pregnant again?” you ask, suddenly realizing there might be a reason for her hesitation.

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone call, then Bianca laughs. “Caught me. Anthony’s got a sister coming.”

“Awesome. Well, congrats,” you smile, though a bit half-heartedly. That means even _less_ time you can spend with Bee. You were drifting apart as it was already. That’s why you were so insistent on calling her regularly, to try to keep this friendship alive, even though it had already changed so much.

“Thanks,” she says brightly. “I mean, we’re not really supposed to be telling anyone else yet – It’s only been about a month now - But, I know how you don’t like to take no for an answer,” she giggles.

“You know it,” you smile softly to yourself. You’re a little disappointed, though. She was the last person you could think of to call to celebrate with. “Well, I guess I’ll find another way to celebrate tonight,” you sigh.

“I’m really sorry, _____, I just can’t tonight,” Bianca apologizes again.

“Don’t worry about it, that’s life,” you shrug off. “You give your little man a big wet kiss for me, okay?”

“Will do, _____! I hope you find a way to celebrate. Congratulations again, it sounds like you really wanted this,” she says softly, a smile on her voice.

You thank her again and say your departing words to each other before hanging up the phone. You sigh, reviewing the short contact list. Carly had moved to Vancouver last year, Megan dropped off the face of the earth, and now Bianca was on kid duty and couldn’t drink anyways. Who else could you call?

Your thumb freezes in place on your phone’s touchscreen. There was only one local person left to try. Groaning inwardly, you tap on their contact and start the call.

“Hey, it’s _____,” you greet, wringing your shirt in your free hand. “Do you want to hang out?”

“Sure, I suppose,” Roman answers after a beat of surprised silence. “Where do you want to meet?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week has been IT HELL for me. Oh my gods. I missed writing. I've also been kind of having a block with both fics, but lucky you guys, I was up at 4am writing this one. It's survived a single pass of my fussy editing and has the approval of my indie writer friend, so here you go :) Character building for Reader! She can have her bubbly moments, so long as she gets her bubbly too ;)


	9. The Celebration.

The sports bar is busy tonight with it being a Friday, another Leafs game playing on all the TVs. You and Roman have managed to find a small table in a quieter corner of the bar, out of view from most of the drunken commotion. He’s wearing a pale blue turtleneck sweater that clings to his bones, sinking in a bit at his nonexistent stomach, and a loose white lab coat overtop.

“So where are you in our timeline right now, anyways?” you ask, already feeling a little sloshed into your second drink. Just a _little_ , though. “You agreed to come out and celebrate with me, so, like, are we friends or something? Buddies, pals, chums?” you chuckle, idly drumming your fingertips on the edge of your glass, before lifting it to your lips again.

“Just acquaintances,” he answers meekly, swirling the whiskey in his own glass. “How much do you plan to drink tonight?”

“As much as I can handle!” you boldly declare, slamming your now empty glass down and broadly waving at Mac to come over. You turn your attention back to your skelefriend. Heh. “Hey have you ever done shots before?”

“Shots?” His brow bones seem to shift together in response.

“Mac, can we get four shots of tequila?” you ask your bartender friend when he arrives at your table.

“Big night tonight?” he comments curiously, eyeing your bone friend. Heh, bone friend. Sounds like boyfriend. But nooo, Roman’s not your boyfriend. Not _yet_. Ugh.

“Yeah!” you snap out of your internal monologue. “I got promoted!!” you shout.

“Congratulations,” Mac grins down at you, then casts an unsure look at Roman. He soon departs to slink back behind the bar.

“Awesome,” you grin at his back. “Awesome awesome,” you repeat for good measure.

Roman’s skull is etched in concern. “I’ve heard tequila is a very strong alcohol. Are you sure you should be having four ‘shots’ of it?”

“Doofus,” you scold. “Two of them are for _you,_ ” you emphasize, pointing two fingers at him. “Quit harshing my buzz and drink some more poison with me.”

Roman sighs softly at that. “I guess I can’t argue with you,” he chuckles softly.

His voice is like warm smoke and honey. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol affecting your senses, but your body feels warm and comforted by his words, as if every time he talks he’s somehow wrapping you in a soft, fluffy blanket with just his words. It stirs something in your belly and you straighten at it.

“Something wrong?” he says, noticing the shift in your position. It sends a chill up and down your spine.

“I really like your voice. Talk to me more,” you blunder on.

“Well, all right then,” he straightens, cheekbones dusting blue for the briefest moment. “What would you like to know?”

“How do you get, like, ID, when you’ve only existed for six months?” It’s not like he has a birth certificate or something.

His eye sockets widen slightly, his glass pausing at his mouth in surprise. Then, he bursts out laughing.

“That’s _got_ to be a good story. Tell me!” you demand.

“I…” he stops to chuckle, setting his glass down before something unfortunate happens to it as his ribs shake with laughter. “I… I had to get _baptized_ ,” he admits finally.

You choke on the next sip of your drink at the thought of a skeleton walking into a church and asking to be baptized. “Oh my god that’s amazing. Tell me more!”

He can barely hold himself together as he explains the complicated ordeal of getting baptized by a church. Unsurprisingly, almost every church he went to automatically refused him. Some viewed the holes he used to have in his hands as sacrilegious and offensive to Jesus, but most just didn’t like that he was a walking skeleton and shooed him away, calling him a demon. Anti-monster racism had simmered since they got full citizenship rights a year ago, but it was still around. He finally found a young priest at an Anglican church up in Ottawa who would do it, but then the next problem was keeping himself current in the timeline, as he forgot what was happening mid-ceremony _three times_ before it was completed. His brothers, their spouses, and niece attended each one, and made no small amount of jokes at his expense. Once he had his baptismal record, and some records that were created for him by the embassy for all monsters, he could apply for other forms of ID, such as a liquor card, driver’s license, and passport.

“So, I suppose I’m Anglican, even though I barely understand what that means,” he laughs mirthfully. “They gave me a bible, and I donate ten percent of my earnings to the church as tithes and everything.”

“Can you drive?” you ask next.

“I’ve only been behind the wheel twice. My brother Paps insists on training me every time I visit, but…” he trails off. “I’m not sure I’m truly safe to be behind the wheel yet...”

“I could try and teach you,” you offer drunkenly. Roman looks at you warily as Mac returns with the shots. Geez, what took him so long? “I mean, like, not tonight _obviously_ , but some time?”

You slide a couple shots his way as his golden ring of an eye examines you curiously. “Sure,” he finally says. “I suppose I should practice, and you _are_ local.”

Your heart swells at the thought of having him confined to your tiny car with you, driving away from the city somewhere remote, romantic… Alone.

“Awesome,” you mumble, cheeks feeling hot again. You glance downward shamefully and your addled mind abruptly registers the untouched shots in front of you. “OH! Okay, so here’s how we do this thing,” you say, gripping a glass in your fingertips and watching him intently until he does the same. He does. Awesome. “You have to drink it all in one go. Don’t even _taste_ it, just pound it back and gulp. Ready?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only mention of any religion I'm going to have in this. I was just highly amused at the mental imagery of a skeleton waltzing into a church asking to be baptized :D
> 
> Also yeah, Reader's gone over her limit. Next chapter's going to be fun >:)


	10. The Wakeup.

_Where the hell am I?_

The only thing you can feel at first is stiffness and pain. You groan wearily and your brain responds with a painful jackhammering sensation on the back of your head, to the right of your crown. The next thing you feel are unfamiliar black silk sheets tangled up around your body, feeling cool against your bare skin. The next thing that registers is that, not only are you in an unfamiliar apartment, but you’re also completely naked.

Oh, _shit._

Clutching the sheets to your bare chest, you sit bolt upright in urgent need to examine your surroundings, an involuntary squeak leaving your throat. A sinking feeling of horrible mistakes made latches on to your soul – You’re not the type, you don’t need a man, but damn if this situation didn’t have some damning evidence of what might have happened. Your hangover rewards you with some more jackhammering as you get your thoughts in order, and you moan in pain as you force your eyes to blink and focus.

Sunlight is pouring in from a window behind your head, illuminating everything clearly. The walls are stark white and the room is cramped and small. It’s definitely a guy’s room, you judge quickly, from the simple furniture and the disorganized piles of papers and unfolded dark clothing everywhere. In bed next to you is _not_ a man, _thank god_. Instead, it’s an empty hard wood drawer pulled out from the black dresser nearby, which strikes you as slightly odd. You can’t seem to see any of your own clothes in the mess, and your mind reels at the thought of where they might’ve gone.

It takes everything you have not to scream when the bedroom door abruptly swings open, revealing a half-naked, six-foot-something skeleton with a cracked face and a glowing golden eye.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” he sighs, sounding relieved.

“Roman! What the _hell_ happened, _where_ am I, and _where are my clothes!?_ ” you panic.

“I put them in the wash,” he flusters, his phalanges tapping absently against a glass of water. “Don’t worry, I- I’ll explain everything, okay? Here, I brought you some water,” he says nervously, offering the glass.

You eye him suspiciously. “What’s in it?”

“Hydrogen and oxygen,” he replies automatically. “Maybe some fluoride and other chemicals left over from treatment- Oh, but _nothing_ else! I _swear_. My brother Sans said it would help with your hangover.”

He seems very defensive right now, eye sockets looking worried, and very tired. Reluctantly, you raise a hand towards him for the glass, and he seems to brighten slightly that you’ve decided to trust him.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

“So what happened?” you ask, clutching the glass against the silk sheets pulled up over your chest. Your brain’s unable to figure it out on its own, like there’s a brick wall in front of your memories of last night. You remember going out drinking with Roman at the sports bar to celebrate your promotion, but you don’t remember anything since the tequila shots.

He leans against the wall next to the door for support, sighing haggardly as he slides his boney hands in the pockets of his comfortable-looking grey fleece pajama pants. “You, uh… Got pretty drunk last night. When you finally decided you wanted to leave the bar, you couldn’t walk straight and refused to tell me how to get back to your apartment – I’ve only been there once, after all. I texted my brother for advice and he said I shouldn’t leave you alone… I couldn’t abandon you in a cab, so I took you, uh, here. To my apartment,” he explains.

“And, _why_ am I naked?” you demand tersely.

He startles and withdraws his hands from his pockets to hold them up in surrender. “Th-that wasn’t me, I didn’t do that! You, uh, undressed yourself,” he withers, cheekbones turning a dark blue as he looks pointedly away from you.

You shrink into the sheets, supposing it’s true what they say about tequila, then. Ugh. You take a drink of water to get the taste of morning out of your mouth. Roman awkwardly shuffles his feet where he’s standing.

“So, uh…” you mumble, trying to persevere through the uncomfortableness of this whole situation. “Can I have my clothes back, then?” you wince.

He clacks his boney palm against his forehead as he straightens and turns for the door. “Right! I’ll get those for you now, just s-stay here!” he calls behind, already halfway across the apartment.

You hear a heavy door open and close, and figure that’s probably the front door. Deciding to snoop while you wait, you pull the blanket up and around yourself and tuck it in at your armpits. It’s not a very large apartment, but he’s managed to clutter it just like his bedroom, with papers strewn about _everywhere_. There are a couple charts and diagrams tacked to the wall – Blueprints of something as well, littered with sticky notes and torn pages from test results. The only furniture in the livingroom is a spacious hunter green couch and a large flatscreen TV, with a stack of DVDs on the floor next to the stand. The kitchen is small like the rest of the apartment, with the counters littered with takeout containers and dirty utensils, and an unplugged coffee maker. You refill your water glass while you’re there, and notice your phone tucked up alongside the mess, sitting in a bowl of uncooked rice. There’s a second bedroom on the way to the bathroom, which seems to just be used for storage at the moment as it has a lot of cardboard boxes, and also contains many stacks of disorganized papers. The bathroom, fortunately, is the tidiest room in the house, but is about the size of a closet and has no tub, just a small standing shower. Everything about Roman’s place is messy, chaotic, and cramped. How could somebody _live_ like this?

Then again, how could somebody live with their days out of order in the _first_ place? The thought leads to another thought, just as you notice a binder on the cluttered coffee table off in the livingroom, next to a mostly empty coffee pot. You notice the couch is unprecedentedly comfy as you flop down and decide to take a look. His chicken-scratch handwriting is hard to read, and he doesn’t always stay between the lines, plus there are some weird symbols here and there that look like… Sign language?

You hear a key in the door. Flipping the cover of the binder closed, you stand from the couch, hoping your expression doesn’t look too guilty. Roman saunters in with a laundry basket, startling when he sees you up and about. Your cheeks warm slightly as you notice your bra is hanging over the side.

“I gave myself a little tour,” you explain nonchalantly, folding your arms over your chest to cover yourself, but also to keep the blanket from falling from your sudden shifting. “You _really_ need a maid or something, this place is a _mess_ ,” you finish, scoffing.

“Sorry…” he ducks his head in meekly.

“Eh, it’s not the worst I’ve seen,” you shrug. “Can I have my clothes back now?”

He shuffles over to you and offers the laundry basket, but you raise your eyebrows, silently asking him how exactly he expects you to take it. He realizes that the only thing keeping you covered right now is your arms, so he sets the basket down on the couch next to you.

“Thanks,” you sigh. He turns to leave, but you interrupt him. “I have a question, if you don’t mind, before I go use your bathroom for a bit,” you say, and he stops and turns to meet your eyes with his. “How come this is _actually_ tomorrow for you, for once? Are you getting your days in order now, somehow?” you charge.

“Heh, uh…” he mumbles as he rubs at his non-glowing socket. “… I didn’t sleep.”

Your jaw drops. “You stayed up all night?”

“I knew it would be difficult to explain what happened if I was in another part of my timeline, so I just, uh, kept myself awake all night. Here, in the livingroom, working on my projects. I didn’t want to scare you by being shocked myself at you being here before I’d technically met you, or if my notes are any indication…” he fidgets and flushes blue briefly. “I-I just didn’t want to do anything untoward, and...”

“I see,” you mumble, slightly placated. “Well, uh, try not to pass out while I get dressed?” you suggest. “It might be awkward if you’ve forgotten that I’m in your apartment, and all.”

“Right,” he admits, pointing to the kitchen. “I’ll, uh, go make some more coffee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D'aww, Roman took care of your drunk self.
> 
> I am tired and did not edit this as well as I could have. I'm also not even going to post the tumblr update until the morning, because tired -_-;
> 
> I have a bonus text conversation between Roman and his bro coming as well. It's not technically part of the story since Reader has no access to it, but damn if it wasn't fun to write anyway :P


	11. The BONUS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't technically part of the story, because the story's told from Reader's perspective and she has no access to this conversation, so it is a BONUS piece that I wrote only because it was fun writing. I love the idea of Roman's brother teasing him relentlessly about the first time he takes a girl home ;)

*** sans! i need help. my friend _____ had a lot to drink and she won’t tell me how to get her home. what do i do?**

*** geez, how drunk is she?**

*** she made an awful mess of the sidewalk. and my shoes. uhh. i didn’t even know that could happen but it’s horrible. can i just put her in a cab and hope she makes it?**

*** wow. uh, you probably shouldn’t leave her alone actually. fiancée says to keep an eye on her, if she passes out and pukes again in her sleep she could choke.**

*** damnit. okay. should i bring her to my place then?**

*** probably for the best. heh.**

*** what’s so funny?**

*** you said her name is _____?**

*** yeah? what about it?**

*** nothing. have fun bro.**

*** wait what sans what do you mean? have fun??**

*** you’ll find out soon enough, heh.**

*** damnit i hate it when you’re vague. okay, she’s agreed to come home with me… now she’s singing.**

*** singing what?**

*** i don’t know. something about being a general?**

*** pirates of penzance. nice.**

*** we’re home now. she’s still really out of it. complaining about a smell. i didn’t notice she got some of that stuff on oh my god!**

*** what’s happening, bro?**

*** she’s taking off her clothes. what do i do?? should i leave???**

*** use a condom. hahaha.**

*** what’s a condom? nvm, googling it. oh. sans, you utter bastard.**

*** haha! be safe bro.**

*** no no no that is not happening. i’m just going to shut her in my bedroom and hope for the best.**

*** you still shouldn’t leave her alone. maybe you should cuddle first, keep her warm ;)**

*** you’re an ass. i really have no idea what i’m doing here.**

*** need me to come over?**

*** hell no. you stay out of this. err, think she’ll be okay for five minutes? i might as well get her clothes into the wash.**

*** she might be. sure you don’t need any help? i could send red.**

*** there is already one woman i barely know behaving erratically in my apartment right now. i don’t think the addition of your fiancée will help matters any.**

*** you’d be surprised, heh.**

*** _____ curled up in my bed and went to sleep on her side. that’s good, right?**

*** on her side is good, yeah. if you really want to do her laundry, she’s probably okay to leave alone for a couple minutes? oh, fiancée says to put something heavy against her back, so she can’t roll over.**

*** okay. that’s a good idea.**

*** also don’t put her bra in the dryer, it ruins them. hang it on something.**

*** what’s a bra?**

*** heh, google it.**

*** fine. okay, her things are in the wash. thanks sans.**

*** no problem. you going to leave yourself a note for the morning?**

*** i’m just going to stay awake. can’t risk that confusion. i’m making coffee.**

*** but you hate coffee.**

*** i loathe coffee, but it has it’s uses. i think i have enough sugar to tolerate a pot.**

*** heh, okay bro. hey, i’m going to back to bed.**

*** okay. thanks for your help bro.**

*** text me when she wakes up, i want to hear how it goes. should be fun ;)**

*** you are just loving the schaudenfreude aren’t you. sadist.**

*** hah, maybe a little.**

*** she’s going to put new cracks in my skull come morning.**

*** i wouldn’t bet against it. night.**

*** good night, sans.**


	12. The Shower.

Well. This is a problem.

He only has two ‘clean’ towels, it seems, and one is hanging off of a hook on the back of the bathroom door, so you presume it’s been used at least once already. Another problem that probably should have been more obvious is that he has no shampoo. None, at all. Considering he’s a skeleton, that actually makes perfect sense. It’s just annoying and inconvenient for you today of all days. You resolve to just wet your hair and brush it through with your fingers as best as you can manage.

At least his body wash isn’t some musky men’s scent. It actually seems to be some kind of lavender and chamomile variety instead. Oddly effeminate for the otherwise masculine skeleton, but smells pretty amazing right now. Between the hot steamy water and the relaxing smell of the lather, you probably take longer in there than is necessary. Your mind starts to wander to places you’d rather it not go, concerning the small space in the standing shower, and the skeleton that’s just in the other room.

Ugh. What the hell is _wrong_ with you lately?

Dismissing those thoughts abruptly and toweling off, you climb back into your newly cleaned clothes from last night. You wonder what compelled Roman to wash them for you in the first place. Maybe you really _did_ have too much to drink. Another disturbing thought.

When you leave the bathroom, you see him still half-naked on the couch. His exposed ribcage is rising and falling gently as he breathes with nonexistent lungs, and his eye sockets are firmly closed. _Damnit_.

Huffing, you stride briskly across the room and smack his skull. It makes a hollow noise, as expected, as Roman startles awake again. “Oh!” he gasps, looking up at you. Then he settles into a soft smile, his hand reaching up to stroke your arm in a gentle caress. His bones are surprisingly warm and soft against your skin. “Good morning, beau-“

“Shut up,” you order, clapping a hand over his mouth and rolling your eyes. “It’s June fourth, twenty-sixteen,” you inform him sternly before removing your hand.

“That’s…” his eye sockets narrow as he digests the information. “Oh. That’s really early. Sorry, _____.”

“It’s whatever. Unfortunately, I think I’m getting used to your bullshit,” you shrug. Then cast a disapproving look at his phalanges on your arm. He releases you, holding both hands out in tired surrender as he shifts to sit up. “So, since you’re obviously further along than I am, this is the morning after you first took me to your place, when I got really drunk after getting promoted.”

“… I accidently fell asleep on the couch while you were in the shower,” he nods. “You told me about this one.” Then his eye sockets widen slightly, reaching for his phone on the cluttered coffee table. “Oh, I should text my brother Sans.”

“Is that the other one’s name? You mentioned Paps last night.”

Roman nods, distal bones clicking away at the touchscreen. “You meet them soon, I think. Oh! Did I remember to invite you to Frisk’s birthday? It’s June ninth.”

“Who’s Frisk?” you have to ask, feeling a bit blindsided.

“You’ll like them,” he smirks. “They’re the monster ambassador. Human, though. Pretty special kid.”

“ _They?_ ” you scrunch your nose in mild confusion. “Not a she or a he?”

“They don’t like to be labelled by a gender, or something,” he shrugs idly, golden eye scanning his phone. “I forgot how much of an ass Sans can be,” he chuckles.

“Why, what did he say?” you lean in, trying to get a look.

He pulls the phone away and clicks the screen off. “Absolutely nothing you want to see right now,” he flushes bluely. You straighten, folding your arms and glaring down at him for keeping his secret. He breathes amusedly at your stubborn display. “He was making fun of me for bringing a woman home. Just him being juvenile,” Roman explains, shaking his head.

“Anyways,” you huff. “Am I going to be alright finding my way home from here?”

“I can walk you,” he offers.

“Are you going to put a shirt on first?” you charge, pointing at his exposed ribs.

He looks down at himself and sighs, smiling faintly. “I suppose I can do that too.”

* * *

 

“Come on,” he begs. “Ask me something I can actually answer.”

“Why won’t you tell me when this starts?”

“It’ll be more fun if it’s a surprise,” he chuckles. “Besides, why would you want to know when we started dating? Wouldn’t knowing the details kind of ruin it?”

“I just want to know what’s coming so I can be prepared,” you groan.

“I think it’d be less fun if you’re expecting it,” he laughs. He reaches a hand into his open leather jacket, hand searching for something absently as he continues to walk next to you. You wonder why he insisted on wearing the thing in the first place. It is June, after all. He withdraws a pack of cigarettes from a pocket inside of it, and you automatically scoff in disgust. Looking at the package in his phalanges, he frowns deeply.

“I guess I haven’t quit yet,” he sighs, dropping the smokes into a trash can as he passes it. “Hey, can we stop at a convenience store? I think there’s one around the next corner.”

“What for?”

“You’ll see. Let it be a surprise,” he winks.

A bell chimes as Roman pushes the door to the tiny store open. The cashier stands to greet him.

“Hey Roman,” he calls. He glances at you curiously.

“Steve,” Roman nods in greeting. “I quit again, do you have…?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he shuffles. Steve ducks under the counter and returns just as quickly as he came, holding a dish of… Are you _kidding me?_

“Thanks Steve. I’ll take five.”

“That’ll be $2.80. Think you’ll stay quit this time?”

“I can’t make any guarantees,” Roman shrugs casually.

Roman fishes some change out of his pocket and hands it to Steve, then grabs five of his latest vice and shoves them into his jacket, save for one to unwrap and place in his mouth.

“I’ve never seen a grown man suck on lollipops before. Aren’t those for little kids?”

Roman chuckles as he turns the stick of the candy with his fingers. “I have a bit of a sweet tooth,” he admits, cheekbones blushing slightly. “Maybe a little bit of an oral fixation, too.”

“Well, don’t rot your teeth out of your skull,” you warn idly.

“Heh. I could just have my niece fix me up,” he grins around the candy. “Way cheaper than a dentist.”

“How many times do you quit smoking, anyways?”

“Just once,” he answers easily. “It’s just less complicated to let people think I can’t stick with it, since I’m all over the place.”

“Aha,” you nod, understanding. Your eyes snap to your surroundings, recognizing the area. “We’re almost to my place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this leaves off awkwardly. I had some more shenanigans coming that I was going to run in to :P


	13. The Kiss.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader's mouth gets away from her again and accidentally agrees to kiss Roman D:
> 
> This chapter does have plot to it I couldn't separate out, hence the lack of warning besides the asterisk, and is just kissing, even though one of them... *coughs* It's short and sweet, you'll know when it starts and it's only a couple paragraphs if you're not up for that.

“Wow,” he whistles, marveling at your spacious apartment. “This is much nicer than my little place.”

“If we’re dating in the future, how come you never come over?” you ask, hanging your coat up in the hall closet.

Roman shrugs as he sits himself down on your couch, resting his boney arms along the back of it. “My couch is nicer,” he comments, scanning the space with his eyes. “And I actually _have_ a TV,” he adds, standing and walking towards your shelves of reading material to thumb over them, grinning to himself.

“You’re lying about something,” you intuit, setting your purse and keys down on the tidy bar counter off the kitchen.

“I probably am,” he grins.

“You’re also a _lot_ more confident later on in your timeline,” you point out.

“I suppose that’s true,” he admits. Roman comes over to the counter and settles himself onto one of your nice barstools, leaning on an elbow and looking up at you with a half-lidded expression. “So, what’s on tap?” he jokes.

“Nothing. It’s before eleven - Bars aren’t even open yet,” you sass back, rolling your eyes. “If you _really_ want something to drink though, try the fridge,” you gesture at the looming appliance behind you.

He hums, sliding off the stool and going around the bar into the kitchen with you. You barely notice as you check your phone, seems his rice trick has kept it in working order, while he quickly finds the small trash can in the cupboard under your sink and discards the stick from the candy sucker he’d been eating. Instead of turning to the fridge however, he decides to position himself right next to you, bone hands resting on either side of you on the granite countertop. You fluster and turn to see him, pressing against the counter away from him and fighting off a blush.

“Hello? Personal space, much?” you grumble up at him.

“I just don’t get very many opportunities like this,” he sighs, golden eye scanning your face. “I’m sorry,” he withdraws, lifting his hands and backing away. “I can stop.”

“It’s whatever,” you mumble, folding your arms.

“Really?” He sounds surprised. “You’re not going to hit me or push me away?”

“Wow, way to make me sound like a total bitch,” you snap. “No, like I said, I think I’m getting used to your bullshit.”

You startle slightly as his bone hands tenderly grip your upper arms, feeling warm and smooth against your skin. His eye searches yours for a hot second, before he resolves to ask his question. “Can I… _May_ I kiss you?”

“Fine.”

Wait, brain, _what?_ Fine!? Wait a minute, he’s _not_ -

“… Really?” He sounds as surprised as you feel.

All the blood in your body races to your face as you’re suddenly finding yourself nodding stiffly. You silently swear, thinking you must have chronic foot-in-mouth disease.

A bone hand moves to caress your heated cheek briefly, eyes locked with yours as he considers whether he should indulge in the invitation. Your stomach twists at the hesitation, wishing he’d either back off or just get it over with. At least this is a good test to see if he’s _actually_ just a good friend and messing with you later on. Or, maybe he’s a terrible kisser and you can just dismiss him anyway-

Before you’re completely ready for it, he closes the distance between your lips and his. His odd, porcelain mouth easily latches on to yours, tasting like grape candy. He’s so gentle and cautious with you, yet still so passionate, his hands moving to hold you at your waist as your own hands absently move up to grip at the shoulders of his black leather jacket. Any thoughts or hesitation you might’ve been holding on to melt away in an instant of wanting.

He pauses briefly to look at your expression, heated breath brushing past your lips and cheeks, before he pulls you closer to him for round two. His hands grip you tighter as his tongue gently presses at your mouth, waiting for entrance. It quivers faintly against your lips. You part them to let him in, and he gingerly explores your mouth with his, spreading that sweet grape taste throughout. He presses you against the counter, hands sliding down to grip you more roughly by your hips.

Alarm bells start to sound as you suddenly realize something hard is pressing against you, and it’s right in the center, so you’re _sure_ that’s not his pelvic bones. His fingertips start playing with the waist of your pants and his breathing is getting heavier, punctuated with longing moans. You panic, shifting your hands down to his chest to try to push him away.

“Wait!” you squeak out. “Please stop, this went _way_ too far too fast and I’m no longer okay with this-”

“That was _incredible_ ,” he breathes, a goofy smile playing across his skull. You glare down at his hands and he releases you, taking a couple steps back. He blushes darkly as he’s suddenly aware of his position, so he turns and opens the freezer side of your refrigerator and sticks his head in, in an attempt to cool down. He’d probably climb in and close the door if he could. “I’m… Oh my god. I’m sorry. I just… Wow.”

“That was different,” you admit, trying to shake your head clear of the fog you were in moments ago.

“No kidding,” he speaks into the freezer. “Why did you let me do that? That’s very unlike you.”

You fold your arms and shrug, not sure how to answer. “I guess I was curious if you were a bad kisser or not.”

“How do I rate?” he asks a carton of ice cream inches from his nasal hole.

“… Five stars,” you admit.

“Really?” he straightens in surprise. “That’s-“

“Out of _ten_ ,” you finish mischievously.

“Average then,” he breathes, his breath turning to mist in the cold. “Wait…” he realizes, closing the door and turning back to you, sliding his hands in his pockets, the pelvic bulge thankfully no longer present. “Do you… Are you attracted to me?!”

You pointedly look away but it’s too late, your cheeks darken and betray you almost instantly.

“Oh wow,” he breathes, leaning against the fridge. “I had no idea. I thought… _Wait_ ,” he rasps. “You’ve had feelings for me _this whole time?!_ ”

You still can’t muster up a coherent response, deciding that it’s not worth it to open your mouth in your condition. Instead, your folded arms tense up and your face feels five degrees hotter.

He loudly clacks a bone palm against his forehead, then dramatically drags his hand down his face. “I’m such an _idiot_ ,” he mumbles. “I truly had no idea. Wow. And I thought _I_ was the frustrated one.”

“Why?” you ask simply, curious what he means. “How long before we technically started dating for you?”

“Seven months,” he slumps, letting himself slide to a sitting position on the tile floor. “It was seven months for me, technically, before I realized I like you too, and thought to ask you out. Tch,” he scoffs. “I was so busy being hung up on the fact that you’re human that I couldn’t see something good staring me right in the face.”

You decide to sit on the cold tile with him so you can be at eye level. “So, there are seven months’ worth of days where you treat me like crap because I’m a human, huh?” you wrinkle your nose in annoyance. “How the hell do I ever put up with you?”

“I have absolutely _no idea_ ,” he says, slight amusement in his raspy voice. “It… _Might_ have something to do with your soul,” he adds unexpectedly, pointing towards your stomach.

“My _soul?_ ”

“I know it’s still sort of taboo for monsters to talk about souls with humans, but,” he shakes his head. “To hell with it. If you come to Frisk’s party, people are going to be talking about it anyways. It’s a relaxed affair.”

“I still think it’s weird that you’re inviting me to the birthday party of a kid I don’t even know,” you point out.

“That’s where everything starts,” he glances off to the side, cheeks turning a deep blue. “That little… Uh, anyways. Frisk’s turning thirteen, and they like pretty much everything. Actually, since I’ve already done it, I can tell you what you get them?” he offers.

“That would probably be easiest,” you nod appreciatively.

“Legal books. Court records for some fun trials. Frisk hasn’t expressed it openly yet, but they want to become a lawyer in some years,” he smiles proudly. “You’re kind of their inspiration.”

“This whole you, randomly-knowing-the-future- _thing_ is getting annoying,” you say, eyes narrowing at the skeleton on your kitchen floor.

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps asking about it,” he chuckles mirthfully.

You roll your eyes. “You said their birthday is June ninth?” Roman nods. “Where is it?”

“At the monster embassy, up in Ottawa,” he says.

“I can’t make it then. That’s on Thursday and I work Friday morning. Ottawa from here is a four hour drive each way,” you explain.

“I was thinking I’d have my brother Sans pick you up,” Roman shrugs. “He knows a few shortcuts,” he winks. And what does _that_ mean? “Hey, can I see your phone? I’ll add his contact.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a couple other things I need to write today, like actually important things, but my brain is really fixated on this right now XD Oops.
> 
> I should probably stop sinning for now and go make some dinner... @.@;


	14. The Word.

“Go home, Roman,” you finally order.

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” he sighs, climbing to his feet from the kitchen floor after your chat. You follow him to your door intending to close and bolt it locked behind him. But instead of marching down the hallway and far away from you and this flustered business like you’d hoped, he stops and turns in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

You cross your arms again, clearing your throat. “Something on your mind?”

“Just…” he begins, watching you with a half-lidded, relaxed expression. “Do I still have to ask for permission? Now that I know you like me, and all,” he grins.

“ _Yes_ , you still have to ask _every time_ ,” you glower up at him with a scolding tone.

“Then…” he says in that husky, gravelly tone as he moves to hold you tenderly by your waist again. You flinch in surprise, unfolding your arms to press your hands against his ribs to regain some of your personal space. “May I kiss you goodbye, beautiful?”

You’re tempted to reject him on general principle, until you look to meet his eyes. They look earnest, and… So incredibly _sad_. You realize that goodbye for him means he’s going to forget all of this tomorrow, as the current, or future, incarnation of him ends up somewhere else in his crazy timeline, not knowing whether you’ll like him or scorn him and his advances again. He looks like a lost puppy with his golden eye gleaming down at you, if lost puppies could take the form of annoying, six foot tall skeletons in biker jackets and black skinny jeans.

“Not if you’re going to push me like you did in the kitchen,” you snarl, trying to find some point to focus your eyes on away from him as your cheeks heat up more.

“That’s not a _no_ ,” he smirks, leaning in.

“I mean it, Roman. No pushing my boundaries,” you order.

“Fine, cross my heart,” he raises a hand from your waist and makes the motion of an X across the left side of his chest.

“You don’t _have_ a heart.”

“Cross my soul?” he grins, moving his hand to stroke your cheek in a gentle caress.

You roll your eyes. “Get it over with already.”

This time it’s a tender kiss, briefer than before, but he lets it linger a beat too long as his thumbs absently trace small circles against your sides through your shirt. He’s the one to break it this time, but he pulls you into himself in a warm embrace, laughing softly as he tangles a hand in your hair.

“Sorry, I’m just… So happy right now,” he mumbles sadly into the side of your head. “I wish this didn’t have to end.”

“You need to go home and get some sleep,” you grumble into his sternum.

He pulls away slightly so he can see your face. “How did I rate this time?” he asks, amused.

“ _Four_ out of ten,” you sass with a signature eye roll.

“Oh, so the one in the kitchen was _better_ ,” he muses teasingly, sliding his hands lower and gripping you tighter. “I’ll have to do that again.”

“ _Roman!_ ” you shriek, pushing against his chest and then peeling his hands off your ass in one panicked movement.

He chuckles at your flushed face. “Sorry, beautiful. I just can’t resist,” he shrugs, sliding his hands into his pockets where they can presumably do no further harm.

“Whatever, go home already,” you bark at him, striding back to the door and going to shut it. You halt the slamming motion when you realize one of his hands is in the way, gripping the side of the door and pushing back slightly. “ _What?_ ” you demand flatly, thoroughly tired of his teasing.

“Just… One last thing, okay?” Roman begs, pushing the door back open. Sighing deeply, you open it halfway and he raises his hand to hold you by your chin as he leaves a kiss on your forehead. “Listen, I know you’re not ready to hear this, but I want to say it anyway while I have the chance.”

You feel a lump rising in your throat. “ _Don’t_ -“

“I love you, _____.”

His words hang in the air as his hand drops and he finally turns to leave. You’re stuck standing there, dumbfounded, for what feels like minutes as you watch him head for the elevator. He turns and winks at you when he realizes you’re still staring after him, and you look away, right into the eyes of one of your neighbours. They’re in a housecoat and holding a bag of trash to send down the chute, eyebrows furrowed at your apparent exchange with the skeleton that just left.

“ _What?!_ ” you demand tersely. They startle and finish discarding their refuse, then turn away back to their own apartment.

Slamming the door hard and bolting it, you march over to the couch and grip one of the throw pillows, screaming your frustration into the innocent fabric. Plopping down on the sofa, you try to begin to sort out your head. At least, that is, until you notice something about your bookshelf.

“No way... He didn’t… That _jackass!_ ” you swear.

There is a conspicuous gap on your bookshelf from a book that’s been removed. It’s right in the middle of your romance novels… In the supernatural romance section. Roman stole one of your guilty pleasure novels, and you can’t immediately place which one it was.

You slam the pillow against your face and fall backwards into the couch. Could this day possibly get any _worse?_

* * *

 

Setting the basket of laundry on your bed, you’re unfolding your ironing board when your phone buzzes in your pocket. Groaning, you decide to ignore it. It could be Roman harassing you again. Your face flushes as you fill the iron’s reservoir of water under the bathroom sink. Angry thoughts pierce at you, reminding you of his shenanigans that same morning.

Your phone buzzes urgently one more time, and you sigh as you set the iron down to heat up. Withdrawing your cellphone from your pants pocket, you just hope it’s something urgent.

 *** sup, this is sans** , a new contact has texted you, labelled “The Punny One”. **is this _____? roman gave me your details before he went for his nap.**

 *** Yeah, that’s me** , you text back.

 *** cool. so, how bout that weather?** Seems he has no idea how to start a conversation.

 *** Why don’t you just tell me what you want?** you text, sighing. You grasp the iron, confident that it’s just about heated enough to attack the wrinkles in your work blouses and blazers.

*** so… you let him kiss you, huh?**

You unconsciously press down on the switch for steam as you read the text. Filling the air with hot water vapour, you flinch as you realize what you’re doing and go to set it down and turn it off. Clearly you can’t be trusted to focus on ironing your clothes right now.

 *** So what of it?** you text back. Maybe an aggressive response will subdue some of the teasing yet to come from Roman’s brother.

 *** heh. nothing. he’s just been raving about it all morning. probably made his whole year,** Sans texts. **anyways, not what I wanted to ask. he said he invited you to frisk’s party. are you coming?**

 *** I don’t even know the kid, so why would I come?** you thumb type back, sitting on the edge of your bed.

 *** want to talk about it over lunch?** he offers.

You squint at the screen before responding. *** Are you seriously asking me out? No thanks. I already have one troublesome skeleton in my life. Plus don’t you have a fiancée??**

*** hahaha. no no not like that. i just wanna meet the girl my bro is always talking about. and, if you want to come to the party, i thought you might want to talk to someone who can tell you what to expect.**

*** Don’t you live in Ottawa? How are you going to show up for lunch?**

*** trust me, i know a shortcut.**

*** That doesn’t even make any sense. Ottawa is four hours away** , you text back angrily.

“tah-dah,” a new, softer voice says suddenly from beside you. “see? shortcut.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These bullshit skeletons, you guys XD


	15. The Colour.

Sans groans painfully as he dabs the wet towel to his eye sockets, the sleeves of his white lab coat getting soaked from the running tap. Trails from cerulean tears are marking the sides of his skull, running from his eye sockets and down his cheekbones to his lower jaw.

“why’d you have to be the type to carry mace…” he moans. “oh my god that’s like the worst thing ever…”

“Serves you right for just randomly appearing next to me like that!” you screech at him. “What the shit, seriously!?”

“sorry,” he moans. “appearing places randomly is kind of my thing. damn, i don’t think i’m ever going to get this burning feeling out of my skull.” He pulls the towel away and squints at his reflection in the mirror. “who even keeps mace on their _nightstand?_ ”

“The hell do you mean, ‘appearing randomly is your thing’?” you demand, arms crossed and expression angry.

“i’m a boss monster, my abilities are teleportation and telekinesis,” the barely five foot tall skeleton explains, wiping at his sockets some more with the damp towel. “that’s kind of what i meant by knowing a shortcut?”

“Shit,” you curse. “Well, isn’t _that_ just damn convenient?”

“i didn’t mean to scare you, honestly,” he looks at you, squinting. “i just thought a demonstration might help you adjust. especially, uh, if i’m going to be teleporting you to the party on thursday.”

“I’ve made up my mind. After this, I’m _definitely_ not going,” you hiss.

“really? aw, come on. it’d mean a lot to my bro,” Sans pleads, still squinting from the mace you unloaded on him.

“What other boss monster bullshit could I expect from this group?” you ask.

“heh. there’s me, then there’s the king and queen, who both just have fire magic,” he counts them off on his phalanges. _Just_ fire magic? “undyne, though you don’t have to worry about her ability. my daughter, who has healing... oh, and roman of course.”

“So, you’re probably the most threatening one?” you deduce.

“hey, that hurts,” he complains. “did you want to go to lunch or not?”

“Did you mean _today?_ ” you ask, quizzical.

“yeah, why not?” he smiles. “let me apologize for barging in on you, i know a nice place.”

You groan. “Fine.”

“okay cool,” he says, trying to shake off some of the moisture that’s collected on his lab coat. “now, before i use magic on humans i have to recite a disclaimer. it’s the law now, apparently. ahem,” he raises a bony fist to his mouth and clears his nonexistent throat. “do you, _____, consent to the use of magic on your person for the sole purpose of teleporting you to lunch?”

A beat of silence passes as you digest his ‘disclaimer’. “… That’s it?”

“i shortened it,” he shrugs.

“Sure, fine, _whatever_ ,” you roll your eyes.

“nice,” he grins.

You’re there before you can blink and you startle, shrinking to your knees as you suck in a breath. The air tastes like sand and seawater. You whip your head around and notice some people staring at you and the small lab coat-clad skeleton chuckling in front of you. The sky is full of clouds, and the sun is peeking through them, low in the sky – Not high above your head like it should be for noon. Some bystanders are murmuring, but you can’t understand it. It sounds almost like…

“come on, it’s this way,” he jerks his head off in a direction.

“Where the hell _are_ we right now?”

“marseille,” he nods, grinning broadly. “… france.”

Oh my god, you are so done with these skeletal _assholes_. You shoot up to your feet and raise a fist. “You fucking _unbelievable_ -“

“hey, don’t sweat it. i promise i’ll take you home after, okay?” he says, offering an extended pinky finger. You glare down at it. He chuckles and slides his hand back into his lab coat. “hurry up, before they give away my table.”

Groaning, you decide the only option you have is to endure this madness until it’s over.

Sans greets the host at a nearby restaurant in French, who seats you outside on the patio. You nervously mumble your thanks in English, and he just smiles kindly and leaves you with your menus.

“this is my favourite lunch spot with red,” the skeleton smiles wistfully. “we came to france last year for our anniversary, just so i’d be able to pop us back whenever we want. we try to take two trips a year just for that purpose. the surface is… _so_ much bigger compared to underground…”

“I can’t read anything on this menu,” you grumble idly.

“i can translate, if you’d like.”

He helps walk you through the menu, letting you know what’s in each dish. It seems that his French is still a work in progress, as he can’t figure out the grammar linking some of the words, but he knows from coming here often enough how to describe his favourite dishes in detail. It seems you’ve been handed the dinner menu, not the lunch menu – Which makes a sort of sense, since France has a six hour time difference. Once you’ve settled on your order, he places the drink and food orders with the server for both of you, holding up his finger to ask for just one cheque.

“my treat, of course,” he smirks at you. “so, i’m pretty much an open book. ask me anything you want to know.”

“What’s with the getup?” you ask, pointing to his lab coat. It seems like its loose and long on him, and with his lined dress shirt untucked and baggy pants hanging off his hip bones, he almost looks like a little kid trying to wear his dad’s clothes. Makes sense for his short stature, but still a bit comical to try and take seriously.

“oh, i work in a soul research lab,” he explains easily. “we’ve managed to make a few breakthroughs with regards to human souls and aspects over the last four years. it’s pretty neat stuff.”

“Roman said something this morning about my soul,” you remember. “What’s so special about it?”

“heh,” he chuckles. “do you… really want to know?”

“Well, why _not?_ ”

“sometimes humans get weird about it. it’s a normal thing for monsters and all, but humans are still adjusting to the idea that they even have one in the first place – let alone that we can measure it with science,” he explains.

“I want to know about my soul,” you persevere.

“all right. i’ll try to keep it short,” he offers.

A server returns and silently interrupts, placing your drinks on the table. Sans quickly mumbling a ‘merci’ at him before he departs just as quietly. He takes a sip of his lemonade, his bone lips reshaping themselves to grip the glass. You wonder at that, but not too deeply, since you’d just kissed a different skeleton that same morning. The thought makes you cringe. He eyes you curiously as he rests his glass back on the table.

“souls, _all_ souls, are on a colour spectrum with fourteen different aspects,” he begins his explanation. “everyone’s soul has a colour that matches one of the fourteen, which is their primary aspect. secondary aspects are the immediate colour neighbours of the primary, and tertiary aspects are the neighbours of those. with me so far?”

“Maybe?” you shrug.

“i could teleport over a box of crayons?” he offers.

“Just…” you sigh. “Get to the point. So what’s my primary aspect?”

“your soul’s purple, so, your primary aspect, or instinct, is perseverance,” he answers easily.

“Just like that?” you ask, confused. “Don’t you need to scan me or something?”

Sans shakes his round ivory head. “monsters can natively see souls and their colour.”

“That’s a little unsettling,” you fold your arms as you lean back in your chair.

The skeleton nods. “see why i hesitated?”

“Okay, so, what does that _mean_ , exactly?”

“heh, you’re stubborn, like red,” he chuckles. “but, it’s a different _kind_ of stubborn. where she likes to charge in and meet challenges head on, you prepare and endure them instead. it’s resistance, but a different kind of resistance, more passive than aggressive. oh, not that there’s anything wrong with that, though,” he catches himself, ending sincerely.

You breathe a laboured groan before pushing for more information. “What are secondary aspects? You mentioned secondary and tertiary aspects.”

“right. your secondary aspects are indulgence and passion – secondary aspects are how you achieve your primary aspect, they’re what fuels your drive to persevere.” A broad grin splits his skull as a thought occurs to him, and he winks at you slyly. “if i _had_ to guess.. it’s both of those aspects working together that probably caused you to kiss my bro this morning.”

“He kissed _me!_ ” your protest is angry and immediate.

“yeah, but _you_ kissed him back,” he teases, smirking with perverse glee and running a finger around the rim of his glass. “trust me, he told me _all_ the details.”

“Shut up,” you scowl. “What are _tertiary_ aspects, then?”

He hums, grinning broadly.

“ _Well?!_ ” you hiss impatiently.

“you just told me to shut up,” he shrugs, then cackles his amusement. Glaring at him, he holds his bone hands up in surrender. “all right all right… tertiary aspects are other instincts that also fuel your personality, but cannot be overridden by your primary instinct to persevere. your tertiaries are determination – like my fiancée’s primary – and integrity – like the queen’s.”

“What do determination and integrity mean, exactly?”

“determination is like… raw willpower, a stubborn drive to achieve your goals. integrity, best way i can describe it, is an overwhelming sense of responsibility.”

You digest all that information as you nurse your drink. Finally, you come up with another question.

“What’s Roman’s soul colour, then? Can you tell me that, or is that rude or something?”

“heh,” he smirks. “my bro, he’s… well, actually, how about i let you find out at frisk’s party? he ought to tell you himself, anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been dropping hints on Perseverence through the chapters, did anyone pick them up? Also, troll Sans is best Sans :P


	16. The Lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ASFDFHSFGH I POSTED THE NEXT CHAPTER BEFORE THIS ONE OMG. I fixed it now. Wow that was dumb of me.

Sans stubbornly refuses to tell you anything more about Roman or his soul, despite your persistence – Or, _perseverance_ , you think cynically. The food eventually comes, and _oh my god_ , is it ever _divine_. You can’t get enough of it. The skeleton seems to notice your appreciation and comments on it, but you deny it even as you clear every last morsel from your plate. He’s thoroughly amused by that.

“say…” he speaks up after wiping his mouth with a napkin, having finished devouring his own entrée. “i’ve got a couple questions for you, now, if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead,” you wave dismissively.

“what’s your take on my bro?” he asks. “do you actually like him? be honest.”

There’s a note of warning in his tone that makes you sit up straighter, as if you’re about to be scolded by a school teacher. “It’s too early to tell,” you insist, glowering at him and crossing your arms. Sans’ stare holds, and you take the hint that he wants you to continue. “I mean, he’s always _ambushing_ me. One minute he’s indifferent to my existence, and the next he’s _groping_ me. I have literally no room to think or breathe.”

“so, do you like him or what?” he pushes, sounding stern. “or… are you just messing around with him? ‘cause if you are, **buddy** …” The faint white lights vanish from his eye sockets as his voice deepens threateningly.

You glare right back at him, unimpressed. “I’m _not_ that kind of woman,” you insist, gripping the edges of the table cloth. “Besides, where is this protectiveness coming from, when you’re the brother who tried to _kill_ _him_ when he came to be?”

Sans startles as his eye lights come back in a hurry. “uh… he told you about that, huh?” He leans on an elbow and clinks his small phalanges against his skull, looking shameful.

“He thought it was important for me to know,” you shrug. “And I didn’t actually know _which_ brother of his had done it until now. So, glad I got _that_ out of the way,” you finish, smirking.

“crap… caught me red handed, heh. you’re good,” he nods, somewhat impressed.

“Why did you fight him, anyway?” you ask, curious to hear the other side.

“mistaken identity. thought he was somebody else... somebody not good,” he admits. “when i figured out he wasn’t, i tried my best to help him out instead. it’s a miracle he trusts me at all.”

“No kidding,” you agree.

Sans runs his index distal bone around the mouth of his empty glass. “listen, _____, another reason why i wanted to get you out here was to ask you a favour…”

“I’m listening.”

“when roman’s further along in his own timeline, he talks about you helping him keep track. it occurs to me that no one’s actually _asked_ you to do that for him yet,” the skeleton elaborates. “so… would you? help him sort out his timeline?”

“You mean, be his anchor?” you suggest.

“yeah, something like that. i’d help him, but i live and work in another city, and have my fiancée and kid to worry about on a daily basis. he calls me nightly, but i just don’t have the time, you know?”

You wave him off. “He’s already approached me like it’s predestined, plus insisted we keep diaries to compare notes. So, I guess favour granted? I’m already doing that,” you dismiss.

“awesome. thanks a million,” he breathes. The server comes by with the bill, placing it face down on the table next to Sans as the skeleton fishes a wallet out of his jeans pocket. He goes to place a few Euros on it before pausing. “oh hey, did you want dessert? i’m stuffed, personally.”

You shake your head no. Technically, it’s still the middle of your day, even if the stars are coming out overhead in France right now. “Our whole service was a bit fast,” you observe, mildly impressed. “Are they normally quick here?”

“naw, just when it’s me. they want me to clear out quickly.”

“Because you’re a monster?”

“because i’m foreign,” Sans shrugs and sets the money down. “but, yeah, also that.”

“Does it ever bother you?”

“not as much as it used to,” he grins. “i’ve gotten used to you funny walking meat sacks by now. heh, after all, i’ve even asked one to marry me.”

“Wait. Your fiancée’s human?” you blurt out. “You had a baby with a _human?!_ ”

“geez, you say that like i’m some kind of _monster_ ,” he says woundedly, but he’s still grinning broadly.

Your stomach twists at the thought. Monsters can get humans pregnant? There was something in the news about it roughly three or four years ago, but you don’t remember the details. You’d dismissed it easily as racist paranoia. Maybe too easily.

“I’m just surprised it’s even possible. How often _does_ that happen?”

Sans shrugs his small shoulders casually. “red’s the only one, so far as we know. hey, if you’re worried about it with roman down the line…”

You fluster, crossing your arms indignantly. “I’m _not_.”

“that expression says otherwise,” he smirks, enjoying the fire in your cheeks. You give him one of your best scowls. “just make sure he uses a condom, is all i wanted to say. heh. anyways, so are you coming to the party or what?”

“I’m still not sold on that,” you grumble.

“you’ll get to meet my kid,” he says, hoping to entice you.

Okay, well that’s kind of tempting. “ _Fine_ ,” you agree.

“awesome,” he beams delightedly. Then he pops out of existence.

You blink at that, a cry of frustration lodged in your throat. Did he just _abandon_ you? In _France!?_ How would you even get home? Your passport’s back in Canada. Your eyes dart around in every direction, hoping this is some kind of cruel joke. Patrons at other tables are staring.

“whoops i forgot something,” Sans suddenly says from behind you, cackling mirthfully.

“Oh, you _little_ -“

“that was for the mace,” he winks, reminding you of your earlier frantic assault. “okay, for real this time. let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans is such a troll. I need more Sans trolling in my life XD
> 
> I posted a note on the last chapter of NYD asking about maybe doing a writing stream, and the response was pretty enthusiastic, so it's happening. TONIGHT (June 1st). Follow me on Tumblr or Twitter to know when it goes live - I'm probably going to start it around 6PM EST, it depends on pizza and my dog :P
> 
> Twitter - https://twitter.com/Anatares  
> Tumblr - http://ladyanatares.tumblr.com/  
> Picarto - https://picarto.tv/LadyAnatares (Marked NSFW for swearing)


	17. The Doll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR Not Your Doll spoilers in this one. I couldn't introduce these characters without spoiling the future a bit, and I couldn't resist introducing them. But then, I can't write NYD fast enough to properly exposit them, so spoilers were unavoidable if I wanted to get this up today :P

“hey are you ready or what?”

“Just a minute, all right?”

You’re just about finished printing off some ‘fun’ legal precedents and trials for the kid’s rushed birthday present. Finally. Attaching binder clips to bind each stack of papers individually, you settle them into the colourful heart patterned gift box that you’d picked up from the dollar store. It was exceptionally girly, but it was the only one they’d had in stock that would fit regular size sheets of paper. Setting a legal book on top of the stack, you tape it shut and stick an adhesive purple bow on top. Purple was gender neutral, right?

“Okay, ready to go,” you call out, leaving your bedroom with the gift tucked under your arm.

Sans eyes it with a laugh threatening to break. “kid’s going to love that. don’t look so rattled,” he reassures you instantly.

“I’m not ‘rattled’,” you insist.

“sure you’re not,” he chuckles.

That same shocking sensation of being one place and then suddenly being another overtakes you as you find yourself in an ornately decorated office hallway.

“Where are we right now?” you ask, eyeing the dark paneling and scarlet décor.

“the embassy to all monsters in ottawa,” Sans responds easily.

“daddy!!”

Before you can process what’s happening, a small child runs at full speed into Sans’ waiting arms, wearing what looks like a silk kimono, patterned with gold leaves on a bright fuschia background, with a pale pink bow tied on her back. When she peels away to give him a kiss on the cheek, you get to see her fully. She looks mostly human, with the exception that her skin is ivory white, just like Sans’ bones. Her eyes shine with a brilliant emerald green, so bright she could be wearing contacts, but you suspect she’s not. She’s wearing geisha makeup to match her outfit, with her fingernail polish a perfect match for the red on her lips and at the corners of her eyes. Her long hair is done up with a golden fan in a bun, with strands loosened from it and going every which way. In her tiny hand is a closed paper fan. She holds her father’s hand tightly and moves shyly behind his leg when she notices you.

“ari, aren’t you going to say hi?” Sans asks her.

“hi,” she says meekly, looking up at you.

“Hello there,” you reply back, smiling gently.

“… hi,” she says again with an adorable smile. Her pale ivory cheeks shyly flush green for a moment. Is that a blush?

“Arial! Come back here, you little _squirt!_ ” a voice calls out. “I need to fix your hair!”

“no!” she shouts back at the new voice, then giggles, pulling Sans’ lab coat around herself to hide. He laughs at that, shoving his hands in his pockets trying to look casual.

Rounding the corner is a human woman, grinning madly and stomping her feet softly into the carpet. A very _pregnant_ woman, that is, wearing fairly loose and worn maternity clothes. “I’m comin’ to _get_ you, Ari!” she shouts out.

Arial shrieks and wiggles inside her chosen hiding place. You stifle a laugh. Oh my _god_ , this kid is too much.

“hey babe,” Sans greets the woman.

“Hey, cutie. Have you seen a little geisha doll come this way? ‘Bout this high?” she says, holding her left hand low, to about the hidden child’s height. That’s quite the elaborate ring sitting on her finger.

“nope, no geisha dolls here,” he shrugs casually. Arial snickers with success from inside his coat.

“What about little monsters?” she huffs, making a show of putting her hands on her hips.

He withdraws a hand from his pocket and clinks a phalange against his lower jaw. “hmm… you know… i _might’ve_ seen one, but i don’t know where they went.”

“I have the _perfect_ way to draw them out,” she says with a grin, beckoning the shorter skeleton in for a kiss. He leans in, holding her sides by her large belly tenderly.

Arial peeks out of the coat to see her parents kissing, and lets out a frustrated groan. Her mother seizes the opportunity to snatch her, to which she giggles and flails. She adjusts her grip on her child as the little half-monster girl settles with a huff, sticking out a bright green tongue at her mom. Grinning, she gently pokes the kid’s weird tongue back in her mouth with a finger, then wipes her hand on her loose shirt and offers it to you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you. I just had to catch my little one first. Hi there, I’m _____, the future Mrs. Aster,” she greets proudly.

“Oh, I’m _____, Roman’s friend,” you introduce, eyeing her hand briefly before shrugging and taking it. “I guess we have the same first name? That’s odd.”

“Just a coincidence, I’m sure,” she shrugs. “If you want, you can call me Red to avoid confusion. Everyone does, now that Roman’s always talking about you.”

“Oh,” you fluster.

Red laughs at your expression. “You really are an open book, huh?”

“Um, why do they call you Red, anyway?” you ask, hoping to distract.

“Oh! It’s for my soul colour. We’re, uh, pretty casual about that here. I hope that’s cool,” she offers. “Speaking of which, yours is a _very_ cute purple.”

You blink at that. “You can see souls, too!?”

“Only while I’m pregnant,” she pats her enormous belly proudly. “It’s thanks to the little monster in me.” She jerks her daughter in her arms to get her attention. “Ari, stop chewing your sleeves please.”

Arial huffs, releasing the sleeve of her kimono from her mouth and folding her little ivory arms.

“ari’s so cute we just had to have another one,” Sans explains, beaming with joy as he leans into his fiancée’s available side in a hug. She smiles down at him and kisses the top of his head.

“All right come on, enough introductions! Let’s go make Roman feel super awkward!” she beckons wickedly, starting down the hallway away from you with Sans in tow.

“Wait, what?” you panic slightly, catching up.

“Oh, well, you know how he’s always jumping around in his own timeline?” You nod. “Even though he invited you, right now, he doesn’t actually _remember_ that he did.”

You flush. “Oh crap, I didn’t even think-“

“Don’t worry about it. He’ll still be happy to see you,” she winks. And what the hell does _that_ mean!? “By the way, we interrogated Roman already - According to him you’re just acquaintances right now,” Red explains, smiling mischievously.

“I still don’t get how it all _happens_ , anyway. Why would I start living with a guy I barely know? That’s not something I would do,” you fret, embarrassed at your already decided future. The pieces were only just starting to fall into place, but there were still so many left yet to find and decipher.

Sans and Red look at each other briefly, but glance away. They _know_ why, because a Roman from the future has told them about it already. But that look that they just shared… It wasn’t playful or teasing or anything like you’d expect it to be. It looked nervous… Maybe a bit… Scared?

Maybe if you can persevere through this birthday party, you can find out the reason why for yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arial and Red have entered the fic >:)
> 
> Before anyone asks, to contrast and much to Red's chagrin, Arial LOVES dressing girly. Hence the makeup and the pretty clothes and hair. If I were a better artist, I'd throw a sketch on my Tumblr of what I think she looks like.
> 
> Also, OOPS. I posted this out of order originally. Hope nobody saw >.>;
> 
> Stream note copied from last chapter:
> 
> I posted a note on the last chapter of NYD asking about maybe doing a writing stream, and the response was pretty enthusiastic, so it's happening. TONIGHT (June 1st). Follow me on Tumblr or Twitter to know when it goes live - I'm probably going to start it around 6PM EST, it depends on pizza and my dog :P
> 
> Twitter - https://twitter.com/Anatares  
> Tumblr - http://ladyanatares.tumblr.com/  
> Picarto - https://picarto.tv/LadyAnatares (Marked NSFW for swearing)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [20/20 Sight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7169435) by [acoolegg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acoolegg/pseuds/acoolegg)




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